


A School Divided

by ubiquitouslyvertose



Series: Serpentine Advice [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eventual Romance, Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Independent Harry Potter, Mature Harry Potter, Mentor Salazar Slytherin, No Bashing, No Slash, Professor Harry Potter, Realistic Power Levels, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizengamot, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 84,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubiquitouslyvertose/pseuds/ubiquitouslyvertose
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts after spending the summer scheming politics with Daphne and furthering Muggle-born education with Hermione, Harry is forced to act prematurely to ensure the safety of the First-Years he promised to help. With Sirius in forced exile, a Tom Riddle with a different plan, a suspicious Dumbledore, and a dangerous tournament, is Harry's desired freedom even possible? Can his ambitions coexist with his desires?
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass & Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Filius Flitwick, Harry Potter & Salazar Slytherin, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Tracey Davis & Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis & Harry Potter
Series: Serpentine Advice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007727
Comments: 29
Kudos: 178





	1. Slytherin Resurgent

**Author's Note:**

> BOOK 1 - SUMMER OF SALAZAR
> 
> Summary: After finding a portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber in the waning months of Third Year, Harry begins to exercise a more calculating and thoughtful side of things. After attempting to figure out Dumbledore's and Riddle's plans - but not being sure on either count - they both settle on a plan to begin expanding Harry's influence with the goal of achieving personal freedom and the long-term ambition of creating a magical Britain as vivacious and dynamic as the mundane one. The first salvo in this battle is to create a schooling environment with the incoming Muggle-borns, who Harry teaches with the help of Filius Flitwick and Hermione Granger. As he begins his plans, he also gets closer to the Slytherin Daphne Greengrass, the Heiress Apparent to the political faction in the Wizengamot that approaches Harry's views the closest, and starts to delve into the world of politics proper.
> 
> Important Note: As we have finished Book 1 (Summer of Salazar) and begin Book 2 (A School Divided), I have taken to re-reading the past 20 chapters and found myself disappointed, particularly in the first eleven or so chapters. I have decided to tweak them a bit, make the timeline clearer, and write them in a crisper style. I began this story with the intent of creating a world that paid more attention to economics, politics, ethics, and philosophy, and the first chapters reflected that poorly. I will not attempt to create additional content, and will try my best to limit myself to just streamline and improve the writing.

**C** **hapter One - Slytherin Resurgent**

* * *

Although the announcement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament did set off the alarms in Harry's mind - it sounded just like the kind of random bullshit that Hogwarts would throw at him - he worried about other things.

At that moment, he was sitting in an abandoned classroom, waiting for Daphne, after managing to stick a note on her hand in the post-feast chaos in the Great Hall.

When she arrived, she was accompanied by a shorter girl also in Slytherin robes, with curious brown eyes and short hazel hair. She was inconspicuous - not like the tidal wave of internal conflict evident in Daphne's expression. Harry faced the unknown person briefly before turning to his blonde friend and raising a single eyebrow.

"She's my Granger," she responded in exasperation. "Also, she wouldn't let me go alone today for whatever reason."

"I am not concerned for your safety," the other girl said, grinning unrepentantly. "I was just curious."

"Do you trust her, Greengrass?" Harry asked cooly, with his wand already at hand. The suddenness of the movement did startle the unknown Slytherin, but not Daphne, who was watching in unconcealed amusement.

"I did say she's my Granger," she pointed out reasonably, before sitting down on one of the desks and sighing deeply.

"In that case, Harry Potter," he said with a polite nod, guarding his wand.

"Tracey Davis," the girl responded, returning the gesture before sitting down next to Daphne. Harry remained standing, looking at Daphne in exasperation.

"Now, what do we do?" He asked after a beat of silence.

"What is there to do, Potter?" Daphne responded, barely glancing up from the table where she sat.

"We need to protect Madeleine," Harry said with a cocked eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't see how to do it without losing too much," Daphne admitted heavily after hesitating briefly.

"Losing too much?" Harry gaped before his expression darkened. "That girl fucking worships you, and you're going to abandon her?"

"What do you suggest then?" Daphne hissed angrily, leaning forwards in her chair. "If we move before we have enough capital, we're not going to achieve anything in the long term!"

"And in the short term, Madeleine gets screwed," Harry drawled, twitching in barely concealed anger.

"Merlin, Potter, you think I like this?" Daphne blew up, standing and throwing her chair backward with a heavy _clang_. Her eyes were blazing and angry; and her entire body shook as she took deep breaths. "Do you think I'll be able to look myself in the mirror when that girl is ostracized, knowing there's _nothing_ I can do?"

There was silence in the room while the two glared at each other. The third person there looked wary as they did, before clearing her throat and successfully cutting through the tense atmosphere.

"You think you won't be able to sponsor her?" Tracey asked, looking at Daphne pleadingly.

"Sponsoring?" Harry asked the brunette.

"In Slytherin House, older members can sponsor and protect younger members, protecting them from harm. The only way anyone would attack a sponsored student is if they dare to face the sponsor," Tracey explained before glancing at Greengrass. "Daphne isn't the magically strongest witch in the House, but she's powerful enough that no one would try and hex her openly for fear of losing, and her surname protects her from actual retribution."

"I can sponsor her," Daphne said tiredly. "Morgana knows that girl is going to be the best First Year of the entire lot. The problem is that her manners and her French origins are only going to protect her from being Muggle-born for so long. And then what? We isolate, again? We're not ready to receive Slytherin students from Muggle backgrounds until we have a firmer grasp on the House."

"The older years are significantly less violent than our own," Tracey pointed out before wrinkling her nose. "Except for the Quidditch team."

"Their propensity for violence or the fact they are more Grey than most is irrelevant," Daphne sighed. "My father is expecting us to slowly take over the House for him to have more leverage in the Wizengamot with the borderline Dark families while Potter moves to the borderline Light ones. If I openly defend Madeleine and her origins are known - and they will be - I will lose any chance of doing that." When the blonde looked at Harry, the unsaid ' _and then what will happen to Sirius?_ ' rang loudly in his head.

Yet, he wouldn't allow Madeleine to suffer in the snake pit without support. The girl was far too intelligent and promising not to be cherished, and if they had to blow over any obstacles prematurely, so be it.

Of course, he did not miss the fact that any benefit from moving faster in Slytherin would make Dumbledore and Snape look fewer times in his direction.

Slowly a plan began to form in his mind, and he made a decision after clearing it with himself.

"Davis," Harry said firmly, snapping the girl from her plan-making. "How discreetly can you deliver messages from both of us to Madeleine?"

"Talking to firsties isn't very difficult," the girl shrugged. "Doing so without being noticed is a bit harder, but I can get Blaise to create a distraction in the dungeons for me to slip by unnoticed into their dormitory."

"That sounds very contentious," Harry said slowly, vaguely worried.

"Don't worry, Potter," Daphne interjected. "Tracey is selling herself seriously short. The girl can talk to anyone she wants in the castle without being seen. It's her thing."

"Her thing?" Harry asked curiously, blinking at the brunette who was now waving cheekily.

"We all have our thing," Greengrass said dismissively. "You are powerful and boneheaded, Tracey is sneaky and knows all of the gossips, Granger reads everything in front of her, and I am flawless."

"You are the most delusional person I have ever met," Harry said dryly. Daphne was unaffected. "Regardless, can you tell Madeleine that she can't reveal her blood status and to ensure that she shows off as much as possible in the next week or so in classes?"

"Surely calling attention to herself is not advisable?" Tracey frowned confusedly. Daphne was more intrigued but looked as if she disagreed with Harry's prognosis.

"That's only the case if we don't move to give Daphne more power," Harry pointed out before looking seriously at the blonde. "I am going to give you Slytherin House, Greengrass, but I swear that if you don't use your power to protect that girl, I am going to make your life hell."

"What a novel threat, Potter."

"I am not making a threat," Harry said coldly, taking a step closer to Daphne. "I am making a statement. The thing I'm about to do to ensure that you have more power in the House? I am not doing it because you deserve to know or because I like you; I am doing it because there is no way I am going to allow that little girl to suffer. After all, you can't act if I don't help you."

"Don't revert to being a Gryffindor," Daphne snarled. Internally, the girl had mixed emotions about the argument. She would be lying if the open statement about being undeserving of Harry's gift, whatever it might be, didn't hurt her feelings, but she could also understand his position. She thought that she had cemented their alliance after their conversation with her father, but apparently, there were more layers to Harry Potter.

"This is not about House affiliation," Harry barked, his eyes darkening again, the faint whiff of ozone invading the room. Daphne remembered the smell from the day where that Muggle parent had questioned her openly. It was a clue that Potter was well pissed about the situation, and that made her hesitant to continue responding aggressively to the young wizard. "The girl is eleven, and she shouldn't deal with this bullshit."

Daphne closed her eyes and counted to ten to try and defuse the situation. After all, powerful wizards are known to be volatile. Powerful wizards with hero complexes in the middle of their puberty talking about rescuing a young child from almost certain danger? Daphne might be brash when defied, but she wasn't a fool.

"We don't disagree," she agreed weakly, before turning to her friend, who was watching the scene in a mixture of fascination and fright. "Tracey, go talk to Madeleine. Say that it's a message from Professor Greengrass to Miss Tessier and she'll understand."

The brunette nodded, had a glance at Harry, who still was firmly staring at Daphne, and glided out of the room. The two remaining students stood there in tense silence.

"I hope that Madeleine is quick on the uptake," Daphne said with a sigh before hiding her face tiredly behind her hands.

"She's always been the fastest," Harry pointed out softly.

"Magically, perhaps," Daphne nodded before taking a deep breath. "She is Muggle-born and too young to be concerned with being politically savvy, but she needs to know how to act."

"Isn't Wizarding Customs just acting for Muggle-borns?"

"In some ways, but not really," Greengrass said sadly. "She can mask her nature, but she needs to create a true secondary persona to survive the oncoming pressures. She's eleven, Harry. You're right, she shouldn't have to do that."

"You're scared for her," Harry pointed out. It had a questioning tilt to it, but both of them knew it was a statement.

"Of course I am," Daphne laughed mirthlessly. "Being politically calculating when a little girl that reminds you of your sister needs your help disgusts me, Harry, but it is who I am."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He wanted to reassure Daphne that he didn't think it was disgusting to be politically cautious. But then, he imagined the vivid little girl with permanently dull eyes alone in Slytherin and any attempts to comfort his blond friend died in his throat.

The blonde recognized the internal conflict and offered Harry a sad smile. "Worry not, Potter. I will be back to being the overly arrogant Pureblood you recognize in a bit."

"Self-loathing does not fit you," Harry teased slightly.

"Everything fits me," Daphne sighed in fake despondence. "The burdens of being me."

"Well, that self-reflection died a quick death," he deadpanned.

"If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you," Daphne quoted, smirking when Harry recognized the Muggle origin and groaned slightly. "Self-reflection is dangerous if you let it run freely inside your mind."

"Whatever," Harry sighed tiredly. "Let's just go. I have to show you something. Mind you, Daphne, I was serious before. I'm doing this for Madeleine, and I am not revealing anything more than what you need to know. It will not be a resource that you will get to use regularly until far into the future."

"And what would it take for me to have regular access to this resource?" Daphne inquired cautiously, noticing Harry's serious expression.

"I'll have to trust you a lot more than I do now," Harry said. "I trust no one with the full story."

"Is that supposed to be your way of consoling me?" Daphne asked incredulously.

"No. I don't care about consoling you when it comes to this," Harry said firmly. Daphne just barely concealed a flinch. That one stung a bit. ' _The disadvantage of Harry growing into the Lord I had envisioned is that he is also firmer with me_ ,' she thought sadly. ' _In the future, I'm going to have to get his full confidence_. _I really should be getting angry at his reactions, but then I think about Madeleine and I just can't._ '

Daphne said nothing, just stared back at Harry without further comment. Whatever he saw in her eyes was enough for him to nod and retrieve his Cloak.

"Get under the Cloak with me," he said, throwing the fabric over his shoulder and motioning her closer.

The proximity and body contact would have created a fountain of romantic tension in almost any other scenario. However, Harry's determined face was putting a damper on that with ruthless efficiency. And truthfully, Daphne was too concerned with Madeleine to try to make any moves.

They slowly walked together, sticking to the walls to not trip into any incoming students or staff members until they reached a bathroom on the second floor.

"Potter, why are we in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" She asked confusedly. The boy just smirked at her, threw the Cloak off, and faced one of the sinks.

" _Open_ ," he hissed, and she watched transfixed as the sink opened to reveal a gaping hole where the fountain sinks had stood.

"Bloody hell," she cursed weakly. "This is the entrance of the Chamber, isn't it?"

"It is," he smirked again, waving at the bathroom at large. "Where else would Salazar put his most grandiose project?"

Without further notice, he stepped in the hole calmly and waved at her on the way down. Hesitatingly, she followed, gripping her wand fiercely, controlling the impetus to yell in fright.

When she reached the bottom, she noted with fondness that Harry had cast a cushioning charm. Still, she glared at the boy as he smirked back. Her sense of awe and curiosity soon won out over her fake annoyance, however, and she began looking around. In reality, the pathway to the main door of the Chamber was quite grim-looking, which tempered her expectations.

Then she was overwhelmed by the grandiosity of the place when Harry opened the second door, looking at the statues of Salazar with reverence. Harry wasn't even trying to conceal his amusement, which would usually irritate Daphne, but she was too curious to be angry.

"Is this where you killed the basilisk?" She said in barely above a whisper. Harry nodded, and the girl whistled. "Is there anything left of the beast?"

"Not really," he denied, peering around. "I sold it all. The Fang is the only thing I still have of it."

"I would have loved to see it," she admitted sadly.

"No, you wouldn't," Harry deadpanned. "Trust me."

"When else can you say you've seen a living basilisk, Potter?"

"In the three seconds before you die," he rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm.

"Where's your sense of appreciation for adventure?" She said teasingly, smiling at his growing frustration.

"Just follow me, Daphne," the boy said exasperated, turning his back and motioning her to follow.

"I'm curious how you can be so sure that you can empower me so much and so quickly," she said, stepping into pace with the wizard. "Particularly when you don't know that much about the snake pit."

"I have told you before, Daphne, I am a Parseltongue," he said, looking forward. "I know more about snakes than you think."

"Speaking off, where is Serena?"

"She's here, actually," Harry smiled softly. "Making friends."

"Friends? What are you on about?" Daphne asked confusedly, looking at the boy as if he had lost a marble or two.

Harry said nothing and merely stepped into an office of sorts. Daphne followed and was immediately shocked to see rows and rows of books surrounding a single desk. It didn't take much to deduce that this was Salazar's office or library of sorts. She started looking at the books in reverence, noticing how century-old books were near much more recent Muggle novels.

She frowned. Some of those books were way too recent for Salazar to be alive and read them. She was about to ask if they were Harry's when a deep voice rumbled in the room, and she turned with her wand drawn.

"Child? Is it September already?" The voice asked. Daphne was looking at the door for the source, but there was no one there. She turned to Harry, but he was looking forward to the desk. She turned a corner to see what he saw when she froze.

"It is. I need your help," Harry said calmly, gently stroking Serena as she hissed happily to her master.

"I see you brought company, Child," the man asked again. The mention didn't snap Daphne out of her daze, though, and the portrait just cocked an eyebrow. "Does she speak?"

"Normally, she is quite witty," Harry smirked. "I think you overwhelmed her, Salazar."

"I see she bears my colors," Salazar said in a pleased rumble. "It is nice to know that someone in your generation still knows how to appreciate me properly."

"Didn't you criticize Dumbledore for having sycophants?" Harry drawled.

"Having sycophants is great when you are bored," the portrait clucked his tongue. " _Being_ a sycophant is the pathetic thing."

"Regardless, Daphne, this is the portrait of Salazar Slytherin," he said to the still gaping girl. "Salazar, this is Daphne Greengrass, a friend. She has taught me much on the Wizengamot that you couldn't."

"Ah, so that is where you have found your source of information," the portrait nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Excellent. I recognize the surname. Having a prominent family in the body by your side is very beneficial."

"There is a _lot_ I have to tell you," Harry admitted a bit sheepishly. "Something tells me I won't go back to Gryffindor Tower tonight."

"Potter, are you serious?" Daphne finally woke up from her daze, but her voice was still weak and came out as a whisper. "You found an active portrait of Salazar Slytherin."

"Not _a_ portrait, girl, _the_ portrait," Salazar informed her gently. "Every one of the Founders made a special portrait beyond the capabilities of regular magical artworks. For instance," he said, before hissing something. She watched in complete astonishment as snakes appeared before her and formed a chair for her to sit on.

"Bloody hell," she said weakly, her legs finally giving under her weight as she sat down heavily. "Potter, do you understand what you've done?"

"Found an irritating and condescending headache in the form of a man?" He asked saintly, still petting Serena.

"We almost worship Slytherin in the dungeons," Daphne said, looking at the portrait reverently. "The other Houses don't understand how much the regular student in the snake pit reveres its Founder."

"They have done and said many things in my name without my consent," the portrait frowned. Daphne was completely surprised at the sentiment before something clicked.

"Wait, that is why you were so reticent when I said that Slytherin House followed its Founder's vision more closely," she pointed at Harry. "You knew what Slytherin believes in."

"I don't think even he fully knows what he believes in," Harry said tiredly, glaring at the amused portrait. "But yes, his personality and interests are complete opposites to what I've seen from the Slytherins so far."

"Merlin," Daphne gasped suddenly. "He is why you've changed so quickly!"

"Not really," the portrait intervened before Harry could agree, drawing the surprised attention of both teenagers. "He simply secluded a lot of himself. In the beginning, he was barely tolerable from how much he refused to see within himself."

"I missed you too, you miserable old man," Harry answered, making Daphne yelp scandalized. Harry ignored her. "Where is Basil?"

"Somewhere," Salazar said dismissively. "I like Serena. She is an excellent serpent."

The boomslang hissed happily and shared a brief conversation with both Parselmouths in the room before Daphne cleared her throat forcefully, glaring at the sheepish look Harry gave her.

"Sorry," he chuckled weakly, scratching his neck. "Serena was glad she met another Speaker, even though he is of the portrait variety. By the way, Salazar, it was Daphne who named my familiar."

"It is an excellent name for a boomslang, Miss Greengrass," Slytherin praised her politely.

"Thank you," she said faintly, looking again overwhelmed.

"Right," Harry clapped, startling Greengrass slightly and amusing Salazar. "Enough of your hero-worship, Daphne. We have a job to do."

"Sorry, Potter," the girl sneered. "I apologize that it took a while for me to overcome the surprise of seeing my Founder's portrait speak to me after no one found it for Merlin knows how long."

"Apology accepted," Harry answered with a cheeky smile before turning seriously towards Salazar. "We need your help. Can we move this portrait?"

While the Founder was frowning at the question, the dots connected in Daphne's head, and she jumped up from the conjured snake chair.

"Potter, you are _brilliant_!" She exclaimed fiercely, turning towards the portrait again. "That would be perfect!"

"Ah, I see what you want," Salazar answered after witnessing Daphne's reaction. "You want me to appear in the dungeons and support her."

"I do," Harry nodded. "Our political views are very similar, and we both want to change the way the Slytherins operate in the school. Like us, she does not trust Dumbledore nor Voldemort, and we are already allied politically."

"I am not opposed, on principle," Salazar said lightly, making Daphne brighten almost impossibly. "However, we would need to coordinate carefully what your expectations are. My presence alone would not shift anything in the long-term."

"I trust Daphne," Harry said firmly, making the girl look at him in slight surprise. "If given the opportunity, she can turn Slytherin House into a Grey House. But she needs a kickstart that I can't give her, and we can't afford to wait for someone in the Dark faction to slip up."

"And why cannot you wait?" Salazar asked with a cocked eyebrow. Seeing the slight hesitation on Harry's face, he took a deep breath. "I am assuming it has something to do with your plans this summer?"

"It does," Harry admitted as his shoulders slumped. He passed his hand through his face in resignation. "One of the Muggle-borns we taught over the summer has been sorted into Slytherin."

"That you have taught? Miss Greengrass also taught this Muggle-born?"

"We decided to teach them more about Wizarding culture and customs, and Harry was unable to teach them anything meaningful about it," Daphne clarified, preening under the appreciative look Salazar gave her. She could not hide how surprised she was at how unfazed by Madeleine's heritage Slytherin seemed to be, and it finally struck her just how far off the mark her expectations of the man were.

"Very well, tell me more about this Muggle-born."

Harry went to describe Madeleine, but it was Daphne who took the opportunity and began speaking about the girl. She told the portrait everything there was to tell, from Madeleine's personality to her strong affinity for magic and the odd way in which she focused her spells. How she took to the Wizarding customs as a niffler took after a knut. And then how they had planned to hide her blood status behind her French origins and well-mannered ways.

The passion with which Daphne spoke about Tessier made Harry feel awe and the slightest bit of shame. He had thought that the girl didn't care about the newly sorted Slytherin when Daphne had hesitated to protect her, and the thought of Madeleine's heroine abandoning her had infuriated him. But it was clear now that Greengrass truly cared for Madeleine's wellbeing, and now that she was speaking about a subject she cared about, her hero-worship about the Founder vanished, and her usual determination shone through.

Never having spoken to Salazar before, Daphne had no way of knowing it, but Harry could see that the Founder had noticed and approved of her personality shift. Slytherin was paying much closer attention to her words, carefully examining the girl in front of him, whereas before he kept his attention almost solely on Harry.

When Daphne finished her description, Salazar looked at her for a long minute. The girl did not fidget or appear nervous, which satisfied the man.

"Before anything else," he said slowly and quietly, but his voice easily washed over the room. "Do you believe yourself apt to lead Slytherin House?"

"No," Daphne said immediately, making Harry gawk at her incredulously.

"And yet, you ask for my help?" Salazar drawled mockingly.

"I do need your help, but I will never lead Slytherin House," she responded firmly. "A single leader of Slytherin is anathema to what it represents. There can never be a leader in a house of true Slytherins because they would never group themselves around a single individual unquestioningly. A true Slytherin is not a servant, despite what recent decades have told us, and I refuse to do what the Dark Lord did to my fellow House mates, but with a Grey inclination. The Grey will lead Slytherin, but there will not be a Queen of Slytherin."

Both figures stared at each other, with Harry frowning thoughtfully at Daphne. He _had_ imagined her to grow into a Queen of sorts, and while her ambition didn't follow what he had imagined when they mentioned them both running the school together, it didn't preclude it.

Then Salazar began chuckling. "Excellent, Child. You have found an interesting ally."

After both teenagers smiled at the praise, the painting continued. "I can help you, but I am afraid you must find an empty magical frame with which I can connect. There should be at least one hidden inside the castle somewhere."

"Can we commission an empty frame?" Harry asked Daphne.

"They take way too long to charm, and asking for an empty frame would raise questions," the girl shook her head. "Can you imagine having to explain to Dumbledore why you received a massive frame by owl post in the middle of the Great Hall?"

"Fair point," Harry grimaced.

"Additionally," Salazar interjected, "magical frames are tremendously heavy, and you cannot affect it magically before you link it to an existing portrait. That is why you would usually paint and activate the painting before transportation."

"So, we need to carry a massively heavy object without using magic, bring it here to somehow connect it to you, and then bring it over to the dungeons undetected?"

"That is the gist of it," Salazar smirked as the teenagers groaned. "Or you call an elf."

"Actually," Daphne blinked before turning a bit sheepish. "That solution is so obvious that I can't believe I didn't think of it."

"Aren't the Hogwarts House-Elves loyal to the Headmaster?" Harry frowned.

"Technically, they are loyal to the school, but they must obey the Headmaster if directly asked, and I doubt that Dumbledore doesn't interrogate the elves if anyone asked them to do something out of the ordinary." Salazar paused, enjoying the depressed expression of both teenagers in front of him. "Or you can just call your elf, Child."

"My... elf?" Harry asked faintly before turning to Slytherin. "You mean Dobby?"

"Isn't Dobby the Malfoy elf?" Daphne asked, remembering her visits to Malfoy Manor as a child when Lucius and Cygnus would talk business and she would play with Draco and Astoria.

"I freed him in our Second Year," Harry answered dismissively, before turning back to the painting. "But he isn't my elf. He is supposed to be a free elf."

"Call him then," Salazar clucked his tongue disinterestedly. "I guarantee he will come."

"Alright then," Harry said disbelievingly. "Dobby!"

There was a sudden pop, and suddenly an animated blob of an elf snapped to attention, surprising Daphne and Harry. While Harry was questioning why Dobby had come if he was a free house-elf, Daphne was staring at the creature and noticing how he was so excited he was physically twitching.

"The Great Harry Potter sir calls Dobby! Dobby waits for the Great Harry Potter to call Dobby for a long time!" The elf said excitedly, bobbing up and down.

"It's good to see you again, Dobby," Harry said softly with a small smile. The elf sniffed and hugged Harry around the knees with enough strength that the wizard had to hold the desk to not fall on the floor.

"Harry Potter truly bees a great wizard to greet Dobby so kindly," the elf clamored proudly. "What can Dobby bees doing for the Great Harry Potter?"

"Well, we need an empty magical frame we can connect Salazar's portrait to, and then we need to take that portrait to the Slytherin Dungeons," Harry said kindly.

"Dobby knows there bees empty frame in the Come and Go Room!" The elf said animatedly. Before he could pop away to get the frame, Salazar interrupted.

"Wait!" He called loudly, making everyone turn in his direction. "Come and Go Room?"

"Yes, Lord Snake," Dobby squeaked. Harry laughed at the grimace Slytherin gave to his new name, but the elf was unrepentant. "It bees a room on the seventh floor where house-elves put lost things. The Come and Go Room bees anything you want it to be!"

"Rowena," Salazar gasped brokenly. There was such heavy emotion in the portrait's voice that Harry approached it worryingly, but the Founder just explained hollowly after seeing the wizard come near him. "After I began building the Chamber, I met Rowena a few times. She was the only one willing to speak with me regularly; Godric was furious with me, and Helga did not want to risk his wrath. Rowena and I often talked of more esoteric magics, and one day she mentioned that she was strolling through a mundane city when she saw a wishing well. The local lore was that a benevolent witch would grant you your wish if you threw a coin in the well. She was fascinated by the gesture, considering it was in the middle of the witch burnings. She stated she wished to build something similar for Hogwarts before we parted ways definitively. It seems that she succeeded, after all."

No one spoke anything for a while. Dobby was staring at Salazar curiously, both teenagers were trying to imagine such a room, and Salazar meandered in his thoughts.

"Elf," Salazar ordered after a while. "Can you grab the frame and show this room to both of them tomorrow night?"

"I goes now, Lord Snake," Dobby confirmed and popped away.

"That room sounds insane," Harry mumbled after there was a heavy silence for a few minutes.

"I can't even imagine how you would go about beginning to build it," Daphne frowned pensively. "Is it an illusion?"

"If it was an illusion, it couldn't work as a storage for lost things like Dobby said," Harry pointed out.

"Rowena always found ways to do things that no one else did," Salazar said softly, fondness creeping into his tone even as his eyes turned distant.

"I imagine you all did," Daphne mentioned.

"Not really," the portrait shrugged. "We had our specialties, I am afraid. Godric was the best duellist out of all of us, the best at martial magic and Transfiguration. Helga was an unparalleled Healer and excellent potioneer and herbologist. I was the best strategist and had a deep knowledge of rituals and the arcane. Rowena was the most versatile, the only one who could traverse between all fields of magic and speak with us all as equals in whatever field we chose."

"It is difficult to imagine such strong wizards and witches coexisting so well," Daphne said softly. "I can't imagine anyone other than Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort that could have achieved as grand a historical importance as you four, and you were all at peace."

"There is a reason why we didn't fight one another, Miss Greengrass," Salazar said with some sadness. "We had larger enemies. To fight another magical when the mundane were systematically killing all of us would have been foolish."

"Do you think you would have fought had it not been for the Muggles hunting magical people?" Harry frowned, trying to imagine Wizarding Britain without Hogwarts. He couldn't.

"Who knows?" Slytherin said pensively. "It does no good to wonder these things."

When Dobby returned and left the empty frame, the three people in the room exchanged glances and prepared for a tough night.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up the following day with a big headache. His father did not give him direct instructions often, despite the frequent lectures on the value of being a Malfoy and a Pureblood. Lucius did give regular instructions as part of the family's plans for the upcoming year at the beginning of each year, at the Manor, but that was it. Therefore, it was somewhat dizzying that they had to switch strategy the day following his departure because Lord Greengrass decided to move against them.

Malfoy went to Hogwarts anticipating a betrothal to the eldest Greengrass daughter. Out of all the alternatives, she was by far the best for him. There was more than a little satisfaction to the realization that the girl that presented the biggest challenge to his rule would be under his grasp. The fact that she was quite the looker was more than enough to satisfy him, and with time, her icy exterior would break - forcefully or otherwise.

The plan was simple. The older years, whose birth predated the end of the last war, were more balanced between families serving the Dark Lord and those who declared neutrality. Even though there was no single centerpiece figure that the Grey faction could coalesce around, they were a narrow plurality of the people in the House itself above Fifth Year. Fourth Years and younger, however, were mostly from Dark backgrounds, as families that feared prosecution for following You-Know-Who made Heirs fast so the Ministry could not claim the family to be dead even if they imprisoned the Heads. By getting Greengrass out of the way, Draco would have been the only principal figure in Slytherin House below Fourth Year, and with a bit of pushing around from Lucius, the older years from Dark families would follow his son.

Then Cygnus got in the way and now Slytherin House would be up for grabs.

However, both Lucius and Draco were still confident. The Dark was still ascendant, both inside Hogwarts and outside. The Greengrass family would likely not be able to gobble up much of the Light side from underneath Dumbledore, and they felt secure in their position with the Dark families. Even unifying the Grey banner would prove difficult for Cygnus, and the Malfoy family still had the leverage his father had tried to use to get Daphne betrothed to him. This small mutiny from the Grey would weaken the Light, furthering the majority of the Dark in the Wizengamot. Ultimately, it was a foolish move from the Greengrass family.

Yet, Draco now couldn't just relax his way into leadership.

Lucius had instructed him to keep an eye out for any movement from the Grey side, who would likely try to slowly build a base of support from the unaffiliated students in the lower years and the upper years. Nothing that some words with Flint and some bribes to the prefects couldn't achieve.

So, when he finally stepped outside the dormitory and made his way to the Common Room, it was surprising to find a large crowd murmuring excitedly around an ornate table that wasn't there the previous night.

He felt concerned when he saw that behind the table, a large piece of cloth was concealing something large above the fireplace mantle.

He felt _alarmed_ when he saw Greengrass sitting in the only chair behind the table. When she saw him, she rose and stood near the chair. The move would have been odd and out of place if when she stood, there wasn't an enormous Greengrass family crest embroiled into the velvet chair's backside.

"Welcome, Slytherin House," she said in a commanding voice with a smile that didn't even attempt to reach her eyes, that shone maliciously and coldly at Draco as he approached the scene. She opened her arms and faced the growing crowd. The older years from the Grey families were flanking her, impeding the attempts from Flint and other Darker members to stop whatever Daphne was trying. The only two people behind the protective line of older years were Davis and Zabini, who were each leaning against one side of the table, idly fingering their wands. "I have found an interesting piece of this House's legacy that I wish to show you."

"What is the meaning of this, Greengrass?" Draco demanded, trying to make his way to the front of the crowd. Some of the students parted ways for him to reach the table, but many didn't. He committed that to memory, noting many people he thought were closer to the Dark who hadn't moved.

"Draco," the girl purred maliciously, stroking the chair gently with her right arm. "I believe you will find this most enlightening."

"My enlightenment is quite unnecessary, I promise," he said, keeping a tight leash on his temper, knowing the older years he wanted to either sway to his side or convince to stay neutral were watching. He saw Nott frowning confusedly next to him and hissed to the boy. "Theodore, go get Snape here. There is no way he authorized this." The smaller boy looked at him briefly before walking away briskly to call his godfather.

"Don't be so obscurantist, Malfoy," the girl smirked. "A family as old and distinctive as yours should appreciate history."

"The legacy of the Malfoy family is well known, and it doesn't need this crup show to portray it," he countered, gesturing to the fuss she was making.

"No, just lots of peacocks, isn't that right?" She asked mockingly, making some people snicker.

Draco frowned. The girl was way too confident, and it didn't fit his expectations or his father's instructions. Her position wasn't strong enough to support this, nor was her father's. Something was wrong.

"We certainly don't need a theatrical audience to portray our family legacy," he smirked, gleefully noting that some people cheered him on.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Daphne said, clucking her tongue and leaning away from the chair in an elegant move of her arms. Draco kept himself from following her movements. Merlin, that girl was hot. He had to write to his father to redouble the efforts to curb her family into a betrothal... "Familial legacy is a matter of circumstance and luck sometimes, don't you think? After all, where might you be if your ancestor hadn't thrown in his lot with the Muggle invader?"

' _That bitch is questioning my family name?_ ' Draco sneered distastefully inwardly. He could feel his forced calm slowly melt away as more people jested him and questioned his legacy.

"The Malfoy name is associated with victory and triumph, not with greenery and herbs, Greengrass," he snapped.

"I am not ashamed of my family's humble origins, Draco," the girl mocked him. "English History is all about creating great things from a few opportunities. I doubt Frenchmen such as yourself could appreciate hard work."

"Such a Hufflepuff, Daphne," he drawled, smiling that the girl gave him a clear opening to attack. His family's French origins were always a point of contention when comparing it to traditionally English families like the Notts or the Bulstrodes.

"There are worse things in life than being compared to Helga, Draco," the girl smiled. The sentiment confused many people in the audience. Anti-Hufflepuff feelings were more or less universal in the dungeons. Associating herself and her family with Hufflepuff was a choice Malfoy couldn't understand, and many in the impromptu crowd seemed to agree. However, the fact the air of confidence the girl exuded hadn't diminished made him wary.

"Wouldn't you know, you blood traitor?" Flint sneered from his corner, being physically held back by a Seventh-Year from advancing to the girl.

"My family is not a family of blood traitors, Flint," the girl countered icily. That was the first time that the girl visibly got angry with one of the heckles. Draco wondered if throwing her off balance that way would work, but he had sent Nott to bring his godfather. If he had to do it, it would need to be now, and he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't damage his image to the older students. "We simply dislike the idea of being branded cattle."

"You are cowards, nothing more," Cassius Warrington drawled. "Fence-sitters that profit when others try to bring grand ideas to fruition."

"Grandiosity?" Zabini mocked with a smirk. "Is that what you call indiscriminate murder against Muggle-borns?"

"Mudbloods are barely human," Adrian Pucey barked before smirking. "Your mother is quite familiar with murder, isn't she, little Blaise?"

"Careful, Pucey," the Italian boy warned, "you might feel the difference between indiscriminate murder and assassination. It isn't as pleasant as you might suspect."

"Please, compose yourselves, wizards, and witches," Daphne intervened smoothly, just in time for Zabini to cut off Pucey's raging answer with a quick _Silencio_. "This is a momentous occasion! We should celebrate what we have learned."

"And what have we learned? Get on with it already, Greengrass," Parkinson yelled from her corner.

That was a good point. Why was the girl stalling? She wanted something to happen or for someone to arrive, but almost everyone was here already. Even the firsties were already watching her with something akin to admiration, particularly that weird French one. Draco looked around to see if anyone significant was missing, but only Nott wasn't there, and that was because he went to look for Severus.

' _She wants Snape to be here!_ ' He realized as his eyes widened. He immediately called Crabbe over to make him run to stop Nott from arriving with his godfather, but it was too late. A sharp bellowing of black cloaks announced the Professor's arrival.

"Greengrass," he said clearly, the students making way for their Head of House to question the girl. "What are you doing?"

"Severus," the girl responded animatedly with a beaming smile. The usage of such an intimate greeting visibly grated on the man, who twitched and sneered slightly before controlling himself. "I was just waiting for you. I have something to show."

The girl clapped, and instantly the curtains vanished to reveal a man sitting down in a chair modeled exactly as Greengrass's in a library of sorts, with a crackling fireplace on the background. Draco heard some people gasp, but he wouldn't be so concerned if _Severus_ hadn't been one of them. That open of a reaction from a previously irritated Snape implied that whoever the person in the painting was, he was quite memorable. He squinted a bit to try to determine any details, noting with concern that more and more people were whispering frantically, but he still had nothing until he locked eyes with the man's neck.

Then all the blood drained out of his face because that locket was famous, and it explained why Greengrass was acting so cocky out of nowhere.

' _She managed to find an active portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Merlin, I need to tell father about this,_ ' he thought weakly.

"I see the dungeons have not changed a lot," Slytherin said in a soft voice, peering around. "The furniture could be improved, however."

"Greengrass, what is this foolishness?" Snape snapped, trying to burst through the surrounding line of older students. To everyone's astonishment, they held.

"Foolishness, Professor?" The portrait drawled, cocking an eyebrow with an unamused expression. "Dare I ask you why you think this is foolish?"

"There is no portrait of Slytherin in existence," the Professor sneered. "I do not know how you created this... facsimile, but it is nonsensical."

Draco noted that some students were glaring at Daphne, doubtlessly convinced that this was a very high-level forgery. By the look of absolute calm on the girl's face, he doubted it.

"Such closed-mindedness," Salazar pointed out calmly, "is not a welcome trait of my House."

"This is my House, not yours," Snape barked. "Enough of this idiocy! I can see you have Muggle books from this century in your library. You are clearly not Salazar Slytherin."

"Ah, yes," the portrait said delightfully. "Muggle literature is quite fascinating. I have a young man in the castle to thank for providing me with these. I have no idea how he managed to fit them inside; normally, I just have to have them held in front of me."

"Are you trying to convince people that Salazar Slytherin likes Muggle literature, Greengrass?" Draco gaped. The girl just smirked back and didn't try to answer.

"This is dragon dung," snapped Flint. "Slytherin is famous for hating Muggles and Mudbloods."

"Young man, even if I did hate Muggle-borns, do you think dismissing them so viciously would be wise?"

"Mudbloods are barely human, and Muggles are just animals," the boy sneered mightily. Some people in the crowd nodded animatedly.

"I am perturbed that the Head of House seems unaffected by such discriminatory language," Slytherin clucked his tongue. "But not surprised. My views on the mundane world are complicated, but I hold no ill will against Muggle-borns."

"There's nothing to be so complicated about," Warrington barked from behind a fuming Snape. "Muggles are unworthy beasts."

"Is this your attitude towards the enemies you declare? Blind hatred with no basis on reality? Not gathering intelligence and believing yourself superior based on nothing but faith?" Slytherin drawled before sneering. "Godric would approve of your rash foolishness. _That_ , Professor, is truly foolish."

"Enough!" Snape snapped, his eyes burning with hatred. "Reveal yourself, or I will burn this portrait to ashes."

When the portrait merely smirked in return, Snape turned slightly red and started to move to grasp his wand when the man in the painting gleefully hissed, making everyone in the vicinity blanch.

And for a good reason, because then absolute chaos broke loose. The use of Parseltongue wasn't just for show; most of the Slytherin Common Room had this or that reference to the Founder's preferred animal, and as one, they all woke up and started moving. The closest ones to Snape restrained him, forcing his arms to bunch against his torso, and a large stone viper slithering around his neck smothered any words the Professor might use to complain.

"Daphne," Salazar said. _No one_ missed the usage of the first name for the girl by the Founder and the awe with which the younger years were looking at Greengrass just about tripled. Draco winced. This whole morning was going poorly. "I knew the situation of my House had deteriorated into blind hatred, but you never revealed this level of stupidity in our conversations."

"I think I have a higher hope for them than our dear mutual friend," Greengrass sighed. "But there is hope for the future, Salazar, I am certain."

And then the girl gave an absolutely angelic smile to the line of firsties looking at her, making the boys blush, and the girls smile back shyly. Draco winced again, both for the loss of potentially an entire year and for the fact that the damned girl was not his bride-to-be.

"What do you mean, your mutual friend?" Lucian Bole, an unaffiliated older Slytherin, asked curiously. The boy was not friendly with Draco ever since he had suggested for him to be kicked off the team in favor of Crabbe, but he was the best Beater on the team and kept his position. More than that, Bole was popular with the older years, the same as Warrington. And after that show, Draco doubted he would not side with Greengrass.

"Oh, a good friend of mine found the portrait, not me," the girl admitted cheerfully, which was slightly confusing. Then her smile turned predatory. "Quite a formidable wizard, this acquaintance of ours, isn't he, Salazar? We have made quite a few plans together."

"Absolutely. A worthier Slytherin would be hard to find," the portrait confirmed with a tilt of the head.

Draco felt alarm bells ringing internally. Someone in the older years probably helped Greengrass find the portrait but did not want to take direct credit for it. It would explain the barrier of veteran students that protected the girl. But _why_ would this mysterious older Slytherin not desire to reveal themselves? Did they want to rule from the shadows, using Daphne as his frontwoman?

But _who_?

Underneath his Cloak, the invisible Harry Potter was having a difficult time holding his cackling back as he watched Snape angrily study the stoic faces of the older Slytherins siding with Daphne. It was even better when he noticed that Draco was looking mutinously at the crowd members near him, who were staring at Greengrass with evident awe. Now, Snape and Dumbledore were going to keep looking for the culprit amidst the older Slytherins not already aligned with Malfoy and the Dark, pissing them off and throwing them even further into Daphne's graces. More than that, both men would now be far too busy to look in Harry's direction.

Quite a way to start the year.


	2. Memories and Memorials

**C** **hapter Two - Memories and Memorials**

* * *

Harry was unsure why he did not feel more pride when relating what had happened during the summer to Salazar. He knew he had made good progress on their plans, but it still felt hollow. There was a distinct lack of sentiment from his actions. Constant self-reflection ever since he had that dream with the red woman had made Harry confused about who he was and what he wanted. The possibility that his goals and ambitions did not match who he truly was casting a long shadow over the past few months.

The atmosphere in Salazar's office was unusually somber. The simplicity of the place had always given it some gravitas, something that shone inward in place of the outward pomposity of the Chamber's outer layers. It was the office of a lonely and intelligent man, and as with such men throughout history, a thin veneer of regret clung to every surface like accumulated dust. There is a strong link between intelligence and a hyper-awareness of all the world's tragedies, one that comes from the ability to see the web of issues underlying the triviality of daily life. There were only two kinds of people with whom one could find such introspection: the fiercely intelligent and the heavily burdened.

Harry never considered himself intelligent, though he knew that he had a better head than most people his age. Many adults had gleaned something indecipherable that increased the weight of his presence. He did not know it, of course, but the contrast between lovely emerald eyes and the things that lurk beneath them made the sufficiently perceptive weary of him as if he did not belong. An inhabitant of the uncanny valley; a child with an adult's eyes. Orbs that, if you looked at just the right angle, dulled with so much pain that you couldn't ignore them.

Salazar had noticed how the boy's voice had grown less determined and more hollow as he transcribed the summer's happenings to him. Of course, there was much there he already knew, as a consequence of reading the boy's diary. Basil had given him an amused look when Harry left the previous night, knowing that there was now no more reason to spy on the boy's thoughts. That did not mean he would stop, of course. It was far too valuable a resource.

The Founder felt a well of sadness inside him, something not typically associated with portraits, magical or otherwise. The forced dissolution of youth is always pained, and he liked Harry. The boy deserved some happiness in his life, and Salazar had seen the way that Greengrass looked at him when Harry had not been paying attention. There could be a chance for Harry to be happy with the girl, or with the other one that he mentioned in his diary, but it would never be a child's happiness. There would never be simplicity to Harry's joy, whose soul carried the same burden that lonely and intelligent men like Salazar always did. A life tinged in a billion tones of grey might give you the most accurate view of the horizon, but it would never beat the beauty of a colorful sunset. Harry's mind had begun transitioning from emotive to nuanced the night when Lily Potter had died for him, and though his subsequent childhood did not help that development, he had finally crossed the line under Slytherin's gaze in the Chamber.

A part of Salazar hated himself for it, but he knew that it was unavoidable. If not him, it would be Dumbledore, or worse, Riddle. Yet, there was no grand dispatching of a navy ship with an expensive bottle of champagne and a ribbon-cutting ceremony when Harry's innocence died. Only the silence in Salazar's office.

Of course, there was nothing that could salvage the boy's innocence after he had entered Wizarding Britain. By the time Quirrell had died, the boy was no longer as innocent as an eleven-year-old ought to have been. However, there was a difference between the intellectual understanding that someone was no longer pure and a deep-seated acceptance of the fact and the latter had happened over the summer.

Accepting the loss of your innocence comes with an entirely too large awareness of your inevitable death. It is something exclusive to humans. Other species understood the concept of not living anymore, of course, but even the snakes with whom Salazar had identified so much in his life could not ponder on it much. Ruminations about reality as a human always stopped at the impenetrable wall of entropy that is the realization that everything you know will die. As a young man, Salazar had rebelled not against the idea of death as Riddle had, but against the notion that one can only define his life by playing contrast with one's death. Definition by opposition always seemed like a fool's gambit for a young Salazar, an emotional trap that springs on those who are not intelligent enough to understand the world. He thought it ridiculous that one must experience sadness to appreciate happiness, loss to understand love, darkness to witness light. He knew there was a way to define things by what they were without comparison with external factors. But the years passed, and that conviction died until he finally realized that he too had lived with the shadow of death looming over him. The animalistic acceptance of death as a part of one's existence does not come to humans as it comes to snakes and other animals. Even though almost everyone does occasionally come to terms with it, albeit in the convoluted and uncertain way in which people always deal with intricate things.

Complexity has always been a human's downfall. People capitalize their most prized things into short little epithets that don't give any insight into reality: Love, Peace, Family. Yet, love makes an emotional hostage and can bring the world's sharpest pain when you are not paying attention. One can only get peace by quiet acquiescence of submission because conflict is in the heart of society, and to desire anything out loud is to compete for it with others. Family brings headaches and heartaches from the overfamiliarity of strangers with the same flowing blood and the curse that is boundless affection for people with as many faults as everyone else.

Not for the first time, Salazar lamented the fact that there were no portraits made of Lily Potter. In a world where people felt compelled to look at Harry's scar, the woman would be the only one who would only focus on his eyes. Magical portraits were not supposed to be capable of feeling actual emotion, just some vague itches in their beings that made for a poor facsimile. However, Slytherin suspected that would not have been a challenge for the woman whose love was so grand it created a magical impossibility before. More than anyone, Harry deserved to feel the joy of love without selfish motives before he could have grown into manhood, but it was not possible now.

Slytherin could understand the pains of lost love better than almost everyone on Earth, but there is nothing quite like realizing that there is no one alive whose love _is_ , without qualifiers or conditions. A parent's love. Harry would lose love in his life - everyone does, at some point - but he had lost familial love so early after his birth that he would never experience it from the receiving side.

"A lot has happened," Salazar finally said softly, breaking the solemn silence.

"True," Harry said tonelessly. "In retrospect, I wonder if it's the right thing to do."

"There is no such thing as _the_ right thing to do," the portrait responded quietly. "Just what's best."

"Would my parents be proud of what I'm doing?" Harry asked uncertainly, vulnerability flooding into his expression.

 _'Ah_ ,' Salazar thought. ' _This is what this is about.'_

"I do not know," he said honestly, speaking more quickly than he usually would so that Harry's dismay did not burn into his memory. "This is something you ought to ask Sirius, I think. But I suspect that your parents would be happy that you are trying to be yourself."

"How can I try to be myself if I don't know who I am?" Harry asked with a mirthless laugh that did a poor job of hiding the underlying desperation.

"I trust you have been reading the books I gave to you, Child?" Salazar asked seriously, trying to capture Harry's gaze with his. The boy did not relent and kept staring at the table despondently.

"I have," he finally said with a heavy sigh. "But I don't know how much it can help me, Salazar."

"There is a reason why I have been so insistent that you try and understand who you are and what you believe in, Child," Slytherin said commandingly, compelling Harry to look up inquisitively.

"I thought it was because you did not want me to become like Riddle?" Harry frowned.

"True," Salazar nodded. "In retrospect, that was a foolish thought. Underneath the superficial similarities, you are not alike. An amalgam of your personalities would have been able to rule the world in a snap of your fingers, but individually you would never be the same."

"I don't know how to feel about that," Harry admitted weakly.

"Nor do I, but we must not wonder much on the validity of hypotheticals," Slytherin said with a dismissive wave of his hand before growing serious again. "Have you ever heard of the Mind Arts?"

"Bill told me something about them, but he didn't explain anything," Harry said after refreshing his memory with a slight frown.

"I have mentioned the fact that Dumbledore practices Occlumency and Legilimency in the past, but I gave it no context. It is a complicated branch of magic, one that even those who dabble in do not truly understand," Salazar said slowly, assuming his professorial airs. Harry concealed his smile. He had missed the portrait in his life. "It was common in my time for scions of powerful and rich families to learn them so they could protect their secrets."

"How does magic help you protect secrets?" Harry asked curiously. "I can only think of the _Fidelius,_ and it's a charm, not mind magic."

"Occlumency works, among other things, as a barrier to shield your mind from foreign influence brought about by Legilimency," Salazar explained, leaving behind a large gap after his sentence. Whenever he did so, it was an invitation for Harry to contemplate on the words and come to a conclusion. At that point in their partnership, Harry did so automatically.

Several seconds passed before Harry blanched. He felt weightless as if nothing was tethering him to reality anymore, and when he raised his head to look at Salazar, he felt his brain swimming in its liquid bang around his skull, starting an intense headache.

"Are you telling me that Dumbledore can read people's minds?" Harry asked with deceptive calm, internally reeling from that bit of information. If the Headmaster decided to take a gander inside his head, Harry's whole plan would burn to ash.

"It is more complicated than mind-reading, but it is an adequate summary," Salazar said with an equally unfitting calm in the rapidly tensioning environment.

"And why haven't you told me this before?" Harry asked in a dangerously quiet voice, with his body pale and still enough to be taken for a marble statue.

"The most wondrous thing about magic is its flexibility," Salazar began patiently, watching as Harry's expression immediately closed off as he started the lecture. However, the Founder continued undeterred. "We create a system of organizing and reflecting on magic so that it can be understood marginally well by the average magical, but for those who wander deeper, magic is an enabler. Definition is the mother of all restrictions, and magic does not enjoy limitations. It lashes out against restraints, punishes easy categorizations, and disavows those who wish to dominate it. Think about how the subjects of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts blend seamlessly, or how you cannot cordon off Herbology and Potions into separate entities. At Hogwarts, we create classes and divide knowledge into year groups because it is impossible for the average wizard to connect with the abstraction of magical energy. One can use the same spell for different uses entirely, and you can manipulate magic to create different versions of the same foundation. It all hinges on the importance of intent.

"Now, do consider the fact that we are dealing with something called the _Mind Arts_. With all the flexibility of magic, and considering how vast your power is, can you imagine what you can do with your mind if you learn Occlumency before you are ready? You would, quite literally, be molding your mind and emotions, which makes it an incredibly dangerous field of study. The majority of those with even marginal experience as Occlumens train for the simple purpose of protecting their mind. Because they do not believe it to be useful for anything more, it is not a dangerous undertaking. However, for you to grow into your full potential, you must eventually master Occlumency and at least dabble in Legilimency, and so self-knowledge is vital. Delving into the Mind Arts without knowing who you are or what you believe in can make you manipulate your mind without your knowledge, robbing you of your identity."

"Merlin," Harry muttered after a long silence, shaking like a leaf. The idea of inadvertently making himself into a mush of abstract magic terrified him just a bit less than a Dementor.

"The reason that you must try and understand who you are is that you must safely learn Occlumency," Salazar said seriously.

"Why is that important?" Harry asked tremulously, not feeling comfortable in the slightest with the risk of literally losing his mind. "Why can't I just learn the basics like everyone else and be done with it?"

"Child, Occlumency is too useful a resource to be ignored," Slytherin sighed, looking at Harry sadly. "Saying it provides you with protection from external invasion is accurate, but it is the least useful aspect of that branch of magic. In truth, the limits to the power of Occlumency are nearly boundless. An accomplished Occlumens will have their memory substantially increased, think more clearly about things around them, will be able to personalize and manipulate magic, and navigate through his emotions without losing sight of what they are. I can teach you more about it as you grow your expertise into it, but first, you must try to understand who you are."

"I don't see how Ethics can help me do that," Harry admitted quietly, thinking once again about his dream following the conversation with Bill and wondering about the significance of the red woman.

"It has always felt like a good source of reflection to me," Salazar said casually. "By no means abandon it, but find other things to help you if need be."

"What do I do now?" Harry inquired after several minutes of reflection.

"You can start learning the basics of protecting your mind," Salazar said, ordering a snake to bring him a book on the subject. "Learn how to meditate and how to clear your mind. Every wizard that threads these lands has to face an important question regarding the origin of your essence. The dilemma of consciousness is one that has weighed on Muggle philosophy for thousands of years, and it is common to see them ponder whether or not humans are brains with bodies or bodies with brains. There is a similar issue in Magical Britain, although it takes on a different dimension. Because there is a mathematical proof for the existence of the soul in Wizarding Britain, you must decide where your essence lies: in your soul or your mind."

"What's the difference between them?" Harry asked curiously.

"It helps to define how you think about yourself," Salazar responded noncommittally. "Someone whose focus comes from their soul will have a different pattern of behavior than someone whose mind is dominant under a similar set of circumstances."

"And how do I find out which one I am?"

"By reflecting, of course," Salazar said with a cocked eyebrow. "Now, begin."

* * *

Bathsheda Babbling did not have the same stern airs as McGonagall, but no one could be charitable to say she was as relaxed as Flitwick either. The woman had a calm aura around her, and her gaze was even and confident. Her passive expression was welcoming but not warm, and there was a slight tilt in her head as she studied her students, like a cat looking at a shiny object.

There were not many Fourth-Years in the Third-Year class with Harry. In the end, he had not managed to convince McGonagall that he could skip the entire first year, but they had reached a tentative agreement that they would look at his progress and decide on what to do later on. It was the accord she had always made with her Gryffindors, but the gentle way in which she said that Lily would have been proud of Harry for trying harder was far from standard McGonagall. Harry was unashamed to admit that thinking he was making his mum proud made his day a lot better.

So, he was now sitting between Neville and Susan Bones. It was amusing that House loyalty took a back seat to allegiance to your year mates, but Harry liked Susan, and the feeling seemed mutual. Plus, Neville looked like he knew the pretty redhead well enough so that the impromptu trio could sit next to each other comfortably. There were a couple of Fourth-Year Ravenclaws at the table nearest the door alongside a Slytherin that Harry was struggling to name.

"Welcome, all, to the Study of Ancient Runes," the Professor said with a calm voice that had the hints of a foreign accent Harry couldn't quite place. "I have always found that before we can delve into the depths of this subject, it is vital for you to understand why it is such an important subject and what you can do with the knowledge you acquire here. Now, Runes are nothing more than an alphabet. In a sense, there is nothing inherently magical about words, no matter what the context. Words are conduits, portals for the manipulation of magical power. But that is all they are. After all, you will eventually be able to do magic without saying words out loud.

"A very fair question arises from this, of course. If Runes are just the study of extinct dialects, why bother? Well, to simplify what is a very complicated discussion amidst magical academics, Runes makes for a far better connection with magic than the Latinized English commonly associated with charms and curses. Now, this is useful in many ways. For the materially-minded among you, the magical subset of Enchanting uses Runes extensively to create permanently magical objects or to give mundane objects permanent magical characteristics. Can anyone name such an object in your daily lives?"

"A wand, ma'am?" A thin brunette Ravenclaw girl asked after being recognized.

"No, Miss Blichen. Wandlore is far closer to Care of Magical Creatures than any other subject in Hogwarts, but the fact is that it is a specialized branch of magic, unlike any others. Any other guesses?"

"Something clothing can be inscribed with runes, right?" A stout Hufflepuff boy asked from the corner of the room.

"You are correct, Mr. Farley, but clothing is more commonly charmed than inscribed with Runes. Magical fabric does not mix well with most Runic systems for reasons we will get into later, and Enchanting can usually make the seams of the fabric wilt faster. Only special clothing, like Wizengamot cloaks, are extensively Runic." The woman looked around and pointed at a Slytherin girl who raised her arm.

"Broomsticks," the girl said with a confident voice.

"Very good, Miss Rowle. Take five points for Slytherin," the Professor said with a small smile, making the girl preen for the compliment. "Indeed, broomsticks are perhaps the most commonly owned Enchanted object in people's homes. Other examples include the Wizarding Wireless, the Floo system, pensieves, and much more."

The Professor turned to the board, and a flick of the wand made the words "Enchanting" appear under "USES OF ANCIENT RUNES."

"Although enchanting is arguably one of the most frequent uses of Runes, it is not the most used. By far, the most popular use for Runes is to create warding systems," Babbling said, including the subject on the board with another flick of the wand. "The most common ward of all is the anti-apparition ward. I am sure you all know that it is impossible to apparate inside Hogwarts, for instance. That is because Hogwarts has some of the strongest and oldest anti-apparition wards in the country. There are other uses for wards, too. Can anyone name any?"

Susan raised her hand, and Bathsheda pointed at her. "You can raise privacy wards to stop people from looking into a room, and there are wards that protect homes from people with ill-intent."

"Five points, Miss Bones. I should have known that Amelia would have taught you something about the subject. Can you tell me how a warding system can determine if someone holds ill-intent?"

When the room stayed silent after Susan shook her head slowly, the Professor just smiled serenely.

"Do not worry, students, I did not expect you to know. There are many ways in which you can use Runes to determine someone's intent. One of the simplest ways is in the Elder Futhark runic alphabet. If you combine the rune _Perpo_ , meaning secrets or mystery, with the rune _Thurisaz_ , meaning thorn or protection, you have a base for repelling those with ill-intent. Magic can interpret the combination as the phrase _'protect from those who keep their actions a secret_.' It is well-designed for stopping petty theft, for instance, but you would not use it for protecting your house," the woman said, assuming a grim posture and writing seven runes on the board.

" _Uruz Algiz Fehu Inguz Perpo Thurisaz Eihwaz_ is the most common seven-rune system for home protection. One interpretation of this system is ' _give strength_ (Uruz) _and defend_ (Algiz) _my wealth_ (Fehu) _and hearth_ (Inguz), _protect_ (Thurisaz) _from those who keep their actions a secret_ (Perpo) _and bring them death_ (Eihwaz).'" There was absolute silence as the woman's words seeped into the students' brains, and even Harry felt uncomfortable looking at the board. "Now, you may be wondering why I have told you something that you may misuse fatally in the very first lesson. The answer is that you have absolutely no chance of writing and powering a seven-rune system because you need to give the runes proper guidance. As I said, _one_ interpretation of this system is as follows, but you must use your magic and the ordering of additional elements around the runes to guarantee it will work the way you want it to work.

"The point of this exercise is to show you that Runes are a tremendously flexible part of magic and can be used to your heart's content. A true runemaster will always have job offers coming in, be it for warding, curse-breaking, enchanting, alchemy, or more," the woman said, looking around the classroom before she clapped her hands and the gloomy mood evaporated. "Well, let's start, shall we? In your first year with me, we will be going over the Elder Futhark and its successor, the Anglo-Saxon runic alphabet. Depending on the progress we achieve, I will also introduce you to some Egyptian hieroglyphs and show how you can mix them with the more familiar Elder Futhark to spectacular effect."

Harry felt an odd mixture of dread and excitement. The lectures seemed to be brilliant, and he had figured out how to deal with Runes well enough using his books, but something was telling him that it would be more complicated than he anticipated.

"I didn't know you liked Runes, Nev," Harry said when they exited the classroom an hour later. Harry felt tremendously energized and was looking at the runic alphabet in his notes with a lot of reverence.

"I don't, actually," the boy said, slightly flushed in embarrassment. "Gran said I had to learn something I was good at and suggested I changed electives. I didn't like Divination, so..."

As the boy trailed off, Harry couldn't help but frown. If he interpreted what Neville said correctly, his grandmother had insulted his friend to his face. Harry knew Neville had problems with self-esteem, but he didn't think it had to do with his family. Actually, why didn't Neville ever talk about his parents?

"I didn't want to take Runes until Auntie explained what they did to me," Susan said with a shrug. "I had no idea they were so useful. She told me that Aurors that know their runes are very in demand."

"Really?" Harry asked curiously. He couldn't think how Aurors could use Runes specifically. Harry had the impression that runic magic excelled in point defense but couldn't be used in a pinch very well because it took a long time to carve the symbols out. "How so?"

"Well, she said that if you were in an infiltration mission, knowing Runes can help you deflect hostile wards," Susan said pensively. "Also, can you imagine how much more damage you can absorb if you manage to raise a runic shield? Auntie did that in our home to show me, and it looked so solid."

"Doesn't it take a long time to do that, though?" Harry asked curiously.

"Yeah, but if you know you're going to need it, you can prepare it beforehand," the Hufflepuff pointed out. "It doesn't last forever, so you can't just carry runic magic with you all the time, but it's useful if you have the time to prepare."

"You can make a lot of things with Runes in Herbology," Neville pointed out with an excited gleam in his eye. "You can control the weather in a greenhouse to plant tropical plants everywhere you need or encourage plants to grow faster."

"Aren't plants magically sensitive?" Susan frowned, trying to remember her Head of House's lectures.

"Some of them, yes," Neville nodded. "One of the greenhouses here in Hogwarts is a magical dead-zone. You can't even enter with your wand, and Professor Sprout is the only one that can get in there. Not even Dumbledore knows how to take care of the plants inside."

"Merlin," Harry whistled appreciatively. "I can't even imagine the plants inside there."

"Me neither," Neville said with a dreamy look on his face. Harry and Susan shared a smile at the boy's affectations. "Well, I should go do my Potions essay. I'll see you in DADA, Harry."

The two remaining Fourth-Years watched as the Gryffindor made his way to the library.

"You also have Arithmancy now, right?" Susan asked, looking at Harry.

"Yup," he said sheepishly. "I didn't know you also switched all your electives."

"I didn't like Care," she admitted with a shrug. "I get why it's important, but it's just not for me, you know? You don't need it for Auror training, so I decided to drop it."

"I can see why Care isn't for everyone," Harry nodded, walking next to the girl as they made their way around the castle.

"We are not all like you, charming a hippogriff in our first lecture," Susan grinned teasingly.

"Well, you know, I'm a charmer," Harry smiled, making the girl snort amusedly. They walked in comfortable silence before Harry continued. "So, you want to be an Auror?"

"I do," Susan nodded with a determined glow in her eye. "My Auntie does a lot of good work in the DMLE, and I know how much she wants to protect people. I want to do the same."

"That's a very noble reason, Susan," Harry grinned slightly, and the girl smiled back before growing somber.

"I don't want children from having to live with what me, you, and Neville had to go through," she said resolutely.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked with a frown.

"You don't know?" The girl responded with a surprised tilt in her voice. "They call the three of us the War Orphans."

"What?" Harry croaked weakly, looking at the redhead with wide eyes. "You mean?"

"Yes," the girl nodded gravely. "My parents died in the war. My older uncle and his entire family died too. It's just me and Auntie left."

"I don't know what to say," Harry admitted sadly after a while. He thought he had been the only student in their year to have lost his family, but of course, he wasn't. It was a war, after all.

"That's okay, Harry," she said softly. "Unlike everyone else, you do understand what I feel. I don't know what to say about your parents either. Everyone says how sorry they are, but none of them get it."

Harry just nodded absently, but his mind was elsewhere. It was true that most people his age had no idea how to deal with death, and he would be lying if he told people he knew any better. Still, he had grown accustomed to the notion of loss, being an orphan, so he truly could understand Susan's words. People did not know how losing their parents at such a young age felt, and their condolences felt hollow to him, particularly when the entire school insisted on celebrating the day of their deaths every year.

"Neville also lost his parents?" Harry asked after a while. He knew the answer if people called them the War Orphans, but the silence was bearing down heavily on his mind, and he wanted to talk about something.

"I don't know if I envy Neville or not," Susan said darkly. "Neville's parents are not dead, but they are at St. Mungo's. Death Eaters tortured them to insanity."

"What?" Harry coughed, looking horrified. The redhead just nodded darkly. Harry felt enormous pity for his Gryffindor friend, and then a wave of shame for not having asked about his parents before. He should have noticed by the way he was always talking about his grandmother and by how Daphne said Augusta was serving as Regent Longbottom. He felt unbelievably daft and inconsiderate.

"I hate Death Eaters," Susan snarled hatefully, gripping her books tightly.

"You're not alone," Harry muttered darkly, thinking about his parents. The determination to make his mum proud of him increased but was tainted with a steely desire for justice against Riddle.

The pair of orphans walked silently to the Arithmancy classroom. They were the only Fourth-Years present and sat in a corner desk where none of the Third-Years would talk to them. Harry groaned, noticing how Colin Creevey was looking admiringly at him across the room.

"This is Hermione's favorite class," Harry said as they took out their books and waited for the teacher to arrive.

"That and half the boys' in school," Susan said with a grin. Harry snorted dryly but didn't say anything else. Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra were the youngest professors in Hogwarts, by far. However, the latter's lectures were stern and in odd hours compared to the rest of Hogwarts, so she wasn't a popular teacher. In contrast, Vector was the Professor with the most fans in school, but it had nothing to do with her lectures. Many male students took Arithmancy just to be near the youngest teacher in Hogwarts and then immediately quit because the subject was so difficult, and Harry could understand the gesture. The woman _was_ beautiful, but what had startled him most was how youthful she looked. Intellectually, Harry understood that all his teachers had been young one day, but that did not fit into his worldview, in which McGonagall was born as a fifty-year-old woman and Dumbledore had never been younger than an octogenarian. Vector was a glaring objection to that judgment because the woman was clearly on their side of thirty.

When the Professor arrived, the entire class fell into silence as she walked to the green board. Unlike her fellow teachers, she was using chalk to write on the board manually.

"Hello, all," she smiled warmly to the students. "I am Professor Septima Vector, and I teach Arithmancy here at Hogwarts. Now, my subject has a reputation for being quite hard, but you don't have to fear it. If you dedicate yourselves accordingly, it is just as pleasurable an endeavor as any other subject. I understand that the wizard-raised among you might have some difficulty compared to the Muggle-borns, but by the end of the year, that advantage will vanish."

Harry blinked in surprise at the idea of a subject in which Muggle-borns had the upper hand. He wondered if somehow that had influenced Hermione's decision that it was her favorite subject in school.

"Please, keep your question to the end of the lecture, at least for today," the woman pointed out, playing with her chalk absently. "I will begin the lecture by telling you why Arithmancy is relevant for your future, and then I will open the floor to questions. Anything you want to get out of your systems before I begin?"

When no one made a move to ask anything, the woman smiled in delight. "Wonderful. Let's begin. Arithmancy is essentially the study of the magical properties of numbers. On its own, that sentence is meaningless. However, numbers provide us with a precise and scientific method of understanding the world around us, and that does not exclude magic itself. While the arcane secrets of magic will likely remain outside our grasp forever, we can create and test and manipulate magic by using Arithmancy. The more critical among you may have questioned why you use different wand movements for your spells or why spells have their names. It is the usage of Arithmancy that allows for that level of discernment.

"If you take the Levitation Charm, _Wingardium Leviosa_ , for instance, you might have had difficulty casting it for the first time because you couldn't pronounce it adequately or because your wand movements did not follow proper guidelines. But it is also known that experienced wizards and witches can do the same charm wordlessly and without wand movement. The reality is that you can do _anything_ without using incantations or wands, but the more sophisticated the act, the harder it gets. If you are further away from the intended object, it becomes more difficult. The same is valid if the target is heavier or more intricate. In this scenario, Arithmancy is used to lessen the burden on your magic and allows you to use it repeatedly and consistently. Every spell there is, every wand movement, every name, has been validated using Arithmancy."

The class was looking at the teacher in sheer awe - Harry would be similarly floored by it if Salazar hadn't already given him this explanation when talking about being a Parselmouth - and the woman smiled at their enthusiasm before continuing. A blonde Ravenclaw was looking wide-eyed at the teacher with such intensity that Harry could not help but notice her.

"Arithmancy is not only used by spellweavers," Vector said, instantly making the blonde girl tense and begin to tremble slightly. Harry frowned in concern and made a note to keep an eye out for the strange reaction. "There are uses for it in many things, from Alchemy to Divination and Warding. Numbers provide us with windows to the soul of magic, and you should treat them with the appropriate deference as the best impartial judges we have on the subject of the arcane. For now, we will talk about the most important magical numbers and what they represent."

When the grueling class was over, the Professor called out loud. "Miss Lovegood, can you stay behind for a moment, please?" The little blonde girl near Harry blinked owlishly with large silver eyes and nodded minutely, walking calmly to the front desk. Harry noticed she had colorful trinkets all around her person and bag- _was that a radish as an earring_?

Shaking his head at the strange fashion choices, noting that it was not even close to being the most absurd thing he had seen since he began studying in Hogwarts, he joined Susan, who looked exhausted.

"I hate prime numbers and everything they represent," she mumbled tiredly. "I don't deserve to suffer this."

"It was harder than I was anticipating for a first lesson," Harry admitted, nervously remembering Hermione's homework from the previous year.

"The problem with Arithmancy is that it sounds dead useful," she groaned. "But then you have a paragraph on the significance of three and how it correlates with the triangle being the structurally most stable shape in geometry, and you want to hurt someone."

"I don't know about hurting someone, but I want a nap," Harry pointed out, bemoaning the fact he still had DADA before the day was over.

"I'm going to steal your idea, actually," the Hufflepuff said animatedly, shifting character to someone bubbly and happy so quickly that Harry was startled. "See you later, Harry!"

Harry just shrugged and made his way to the DADA classroom, arriving just a few seconds before Hermione made her way to the seat next to him.

"I don't know how you survived Third Year, doing five electives at once," Harry said instead of a greeting. "I've been to one Arithmancy lecture, and I have a headache."

"I thought you had read the books during the summer," Hermione frowned worriedly.

"I did," Harry shrugged. "But the books and the lectures are very different. I still think it's fascinating, but it's not as easy as I thought it would be. Ancient Runes was amazing, though."

"Well, if you need help, let me know. I still have my notes from last year," Hermione said concernedly.

"Thanks," Harry said with a small smile. "I'll try to survive on my own."

Neville soon arrived and sat next to Hermione. Harry worried that Ron might get angry with the boy, but his redhead friend entered the room not a second later laughing with Seamus and Dean.

Harry fought a yawn as they began to retrieve their books. He hadn't slept very well after the whole thing with Slytherin House, and having Ancient Runes and Arithmancy on the same day had exhausted him. Soon enough, the sound of wood hitting the floor invaded the room, and in came Professor Moody.

"Put them away," he growled. "You won't need those books today."

Hermione looked downcast while Neville looked vaguely terrified. It wasn't his fault; Harry also got a bad feeling from the teacher. It might have to do with the record of DADA Professors putting his life in danger knowingly or otherwise, but it still lingered on the back of his mind.

The feeling of unease intensified when Moody started to call names on the list with his regular eye fixed on the paper and the magical one swirling about to meet the referred student.

"Right, I received a letter from Professor Lupin regarding your lectures last year," he said gruffly after the roll call had finished. Harry wondered if the man could say anything without being rough. "Seems you've been focusing heavily on tackling Dark creatures, correct?"

After a murmuring of assent, the man continued. "In that case, you are far behind on curses from where you should be because none of you appreciate the damage wizards can do to one another," he growled at the end, looking at his scars. "In this year as your Professor, I am going to teach you how to defend yourselves against other wizards, who are by far the most dangerous things you will meet in your life."

He laughed harshly at the nervous expressions on the students' faces and clapped his hands together.

"I always liked diving from the top. Curses!" He said in an animated voice that did not match the subject at hand. Harry remembered Dolohov's book, and part of him wished he was training again. He ought to go to the Come-and-Go Room soon. "According to the Ministry of Magic, I should teach you countercurses and leave it at that. But I have a higher opinion of your mettle than that, and Dumbledore agrees with me. So, I got dispensation to teach you things I think you should know, and I'll leave the Ministry idiots to their incessant yapping. As if you could know how to defend yourselves if you don't even know what you're up against," the man finished irritably.

"Sir, isn't that Dark Magic?" Ron blurted out apprehensively. Harry felt the urge to flinch, knowing he would not have his friend's approval if he knew about Dolohov. Hermione might have been worse. He looked at Daphne to see the girl exchange a quick look with him as well, raising her eyebrow as if communicating ' _Gryffindors can be so silly_.' Ron looked very nervous when the magical eye focused on him before Moody offered him a scarred and uneven smile, which somehow made the man's expression even grimmer.

"Arthur's boy, are you?" Ron nodded nervously, and Moody gave him a barking laugh. "A good man, your father. I haven't seen him much recently, but he helped us a lot back in the war. Well, think with me, lad. A wizard is about to put you under an illegal curse. It's red. You don't know what it could be because you only learned the simple defense the Ministry is trying to push on your lot. Some curses, you can't block with magical shields. And then what? You need to know what you're up against. And you need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

The blonde girl stammered nervously and put a completed horoscope she had been showing Parvati under the desk. Harry was a mixture of impressed and concerned with the man's ability to scout out things, considering he wasn't even looking in the girl's direction.

"There are two things every wizard should have in the world: information and _Constant Vigilance!_ " He shouted the last words as he banged the staff on the floor, making the class jump in fright. "Right, do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands jumped into the air, but Harry remained still, not liking where this was going. To his right, Neville was just as still, but Hermione, who separated both wizards, did not seem to mind. Finally, Moody pointed to Ron.

"The Imperius Curse? I think my dad's told me about that one before," he finished lamely when Moody was unmoved by his answer.

"Aye," he finally responded appreciatively, stroking his chin with a long finger. "I can imagine your dad has some stories about that one. Gave a world of trouble to the Ministry before we could figure out how to identify a victim."

Moody finished his sentence looking at Malfoy squarely in the eye, making the blonde boy squirm and sneer simultaneously. Harry smirked behind his hand. Everyone who disliked the Malfoy family was at least tentatively on his good books.

"Can anyone tell me the effects of the curse?" He asked gruffly, as he turned to the green board and wrote down _Imperius_ in large capital letters. When no one answered, he continued in a whisper. "Total control. Someone under the Imperius is perfectly obedient. Aye, I can make you do a funny jig, but I can also tell you to jump out of the window. Back in the war, lots of wizards and witches were under the Imperius Curse. Some of them were good men forced to do terrible things."

Again, he focused on Malfoy and sneered distastefully. "Others, not so good," he said before turning his attention to the classroom at large. "You can beat the Imperius, and I'll teach you how later, but it takes strength and determination that not everyone has. The best way to beat any curse is to not get hit with it. Remember! _Constant Vigilance_! _"_

"What else?" Moody asked after he let the room marinate on his speech a while longer.

Fewer people raised their hands this time, but Neville was one of them. Harry looked at his friend, who looked nervous but determined when he got called.

"The Cruciatus," he said in a small voice he had never heard from the boy before.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville.

"Longbottom?" He asked, his magical eye swooping down to check his list. Neville nodded, and the look in the man's eyes saddened before he turned to the green board and wrote down the second Unforgiveable. When he continued, his voice was unusually soft. "I can't describe the Cruciatus' effects. It brings unimaginable pain, lighting up every single pain receptor in your body at the same time. Some spells can do damage but have secondary uses in legitimate contexts, particularly in Healing. You can even use the Imperius to stop a suicidal man. There is no positive use for the Cruciatus. Its only use is for torture."

The last word made something click inside Harry's head, and he turned to look at Neville with wide eyes. He saw his friend gripping the desk firmly, his knuckles white with force, and his expression was cloudy and terrified.

"Oh, Neville," Harry whispered brokenly. Hermione was broken out of her concentration by the words, and she looked at Harry confusedly before following his gaze and looking at Neville. She blanched before touching the boy in the arm, making him jump a bit in surprise. When he saw Harry staring at him sadly and Hermione being her concerned self, he couldn't help it and had to look away.

Harry had to close his eyes and let out a weary sigh. He couldn't even imagine how Neville felt at the moment. Harry remembered Susan's words earlier in the day. He did not know if he envied or pitied the boy, but after hearing about the Cruciatus and connecting the dots, he couldn't help feeling horrified. A part of him felt gross for reading Rookwood's book, but Harry clung to Moody's words. He had to know Dark magic to fight Death Eaters.

"The last one?" Moody asked, distinctively not looking at Harry. To his surprise, it was Daphne who was called, her hand delicately shooting in the air in a smooth motion.

"The Killing Curse," his blonde friend said calmly, outwardly unaffected.

"Yes. _Avada Kedavra_ ," Moody said calmly. "Arguably the worst. Certainly, the most infamous. No countercurse can block death. No shield can stop it. You get hit, you die. It leaves no mark. It has one survivor, and he's sitting here in this room."

In past times, Harry would have been embarrassed at the attention, but now he could only feel his body tense up. He remembered the green light hitting his mother when the Dementors came close and seeing her fall down. His parents' deaths had been playing in his head for years now, repeatedly tormenting his imagination, but after last year Harry needn't wonder anymore. The images played in his mind on repeat, and he felt rage and sorrow and other things - darker things, which he kept nameless so they would not consume him and rob him of his personality. For the first time since talking with Salazar, he recognized what he had meant by knowing himself to master Occlumency. Harry knew that those darker feelings were a part of him, but trying to internalize them would do a lot of damage.

"We call them The Unforgivables as such for many reasons, but chief among them is the fact that there is no accidental use for them. To cast any of these curses, you need to _mean it_. There are not many spells that require intense emotion for them to work, but these three are some of them. You have to want to dominate to cast the Imperius, you have to want to torture to cast the Cruciatus, and you have to want to kill to cast the Killing Curse. That's what you're up against," Moody said in a quiet voice that did nothing to dispel the tense atmosphere in the room. "Magic is a wonderful thing, but you can use it for many things, and not everyone in the world is a good person. Maybe you will live an entire lifetime without worrying that you might be targeted by one of these three curses, but that is a bet you shouldn't take blindly. Again, always practice _constant vigilance_!"

After another bout of silence, the man nodded to himself. "You're dismissed. Potter, Longbottom, stay behind."

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Neville but stopped packing up. Hermione looked at him concernedly, and even Daphne seemed slightly intrigued as she walked by them.

What a day it had been, and it wasn't even over.


	3. Lightning Strikes

**C** **hapter Three - Lightning Strikes**

* * *

The man motioned for them to follow him into his office, which was behind the classroom itself, and both Fourth-Years entered. Neville was anxiously looking around the room, but Harry, almost defiantly, did not peer away from the scarred man's face. Only when Moody turned his back to put a kettle on using his wand did Harry evaluate the room.

Unlike the other Professor's offices he had been to over the years, there were no discernible features to identify the inhabitant of the room. It would make sense that the place did not acquire the lived-in quality of the offices of Professor McGonagall or Snape, considering the revolving door that had taken place with the DADA position over the past decades. There was a hint of a martial quality present as the room did not feature any aesthetic embellishments but had plenty of war photographs, trophies from Dark creatures and a newspaper clipping or two about Moody's arrests.

"Sit down, the both of you," Moody said in a gentle growl, gesturing to the chairs facing the main desk. While the kettle heated some water for tea, the Professor opened some drawers and started taking things from them. Harry's eyes widened when he noticed that many of them were photographs. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for today. It's harsh, I know, but you have to know. All four of your parents were very high profile in the war and the chances of one of the dark bastards that didn't get caught popping up in remembrance of their fallen Master aren't low."

Neither boy said anything. Neville's attention was firmly fixed on the objects piled on top of Moody's desk, while Harry's was on the man himself. The retired Auror summoned a metal tin full of dried-out tea leaves and muttered a spell. When the leaves shone a pale blue, he nodded to himself and set the tea to steep in the water. Seeing Harry's questioning look, he added grimly, "You never know if someone has poisoned your things, Potter. I always check everything I drink and eat."

"Constant vigilance?" Harry asked with some amusement, making the older man grin widely, the gesture quite haunting on his scarred face.

"Aye," the man chuckled with a raspy throat before turning serious again. "I was never close to your mothers, though I was in contact with them often through Albus. Both your fathers worked with me more frequently in the DMLE when I was a Senior Auror during the war, and they were both good men. Most people would not talk to either of you about their achievements during the war because they think such things are not subjects to share with underage wizards, but I think thats's nonsense. Their time in the war helped make them who they were, and you should know about that time. If you ever want to hear their stories, my door is always open."

"T-thank you, sir," Neville whispered emotionally. Harry was also affected and restricted himself with a nod, pleased with the prospect of getting to know more about his father. More than that; getting to know a side of him that went beyond the pranks and Quidditch prowess that people would always mention when talking about James.

"It's the least I can do," the man gruffed, before gently serving the tea. It was a dichotomy how a man so clearly molded by violence could move with such controlled grace, particularly considering how he was missing a limb and sporting dozens of scars. As they took their first sips, he turned a photograph of several people in the two boy's direction. When Harry looked at the people on it, he felt his chest constrain, and tears began to form in the corner of his eye. Right in the middle of the group, Sirius stood proudly in well-tailored clothes, his posture straight and calm, a trim mustache, and an easy smile on his face. There was such an enormous difference between the young man in the photograph and the haunted Azkaban escapee that Harry had first seen in the Shrieking Shack. They looked like different people, and a wave of anger and grief swept over Harry at knowing his godfather had faced more than a decade in prison unfairly. By his side was James, standing with a poorly-concealed smile as if Sirius had shared a quiet joke just as someone took the photograph. Everyone had always told Harry that he looked just like his father, but he could not imagine himself looking quite like the black-haired man, with his very light stubble and a teasing glint in his eye. It was his mother's expression that caught his eye. Lily was standing straighter than most other people in the photograph, and looked far more serious. She shared the same grim outlook etched on Moody's, Dumbledore's, or Elphias Doge's faces. There was no grimace on her face, but her green eyes were shining sadly and her face seemed distant, a far cry from the kind smile Harry had seen on the Mirror of Erised three years prior. It was an expression Harry had seen on his face several times since he arrived at Hogwarts, and made him question whether he was as similar to his father as many adults insisted.

Harry heard Neville catch his breath roughly next to him, and he followed his gaze to see a couple standing a few spots to the right of Sirius. It startled Harry how much the boy looked like his mother, with the same short sandy-blonde hair and plump, happy-looking expression Harry had seen on his friend whenever he was relaxed. A very tall man wearing a green sweater had his arm protectively wrapped around the woman and they shared a relaxed posture between them.

"Are they your parents?" Harry asked cautiously. The boy just nodded sharply, still looking moved beyond words.

"Alice and Frank," the Auror said, pointing at each of them in turn. "Both of them Aurors, very good at what they did. Both fought and survived Voldemort themselves a couple of times, something that very few people can say honestly. Alice worked under Amelia Bones, the current Head of the DMLE, and Frank worked under me. Your father was a demon with a wand, Neville. Faster than just about everybody in the force, but put him near his wife and he softened like you wouldn't believe."

"Gran always tells me how talented they both were," Neville said in a confused mixture of sadness and pride. "That they'd want me to be an Auror and do the family tradition proud."

"Augusta told you that, did she?" Moody scoffed roughly. "Load of bollocks, I tell you."

"What?" Neville gasped confusedly.

"Boy, Frank and Alice would have given anything they had for you to live in a world where you wouldn't have to wear the scarlet," Moody said seriously before shaking his head. "I don't know what's gotten over Augusta to say that, but trust me, lad, they would have been happy so long as you were happy with your life."

"Oh," Neville blinked like he didn't know what to do with that piece of information before offering a nervous smile. "I still want to make them proud, though."

"I hear from Sprout that you're the best Herbology student she has," Moody pointed out. Neville flushed at the compliment and stammered out something about it being an exaggeration.

"Please," Harry snorted. "Nev could be teaching Herbology if he wanted." The other boy flushed brighter and couldn't face either of the other two.

"There you go, laddie," Moody said, patting a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder as he balked under the sudden weight. "There's reason enough to be proud right there."

"I still wish I was a stronger wizard," Neville said softly, not looking at anyone in the eye.

The Auror frowned and summoned his tin of tea leaves.

"Right, I'm teaching you how to do the detection spell I cast on my tea," Moody said, slipping his wand into his hand in a smooth motion.

"You mean, right now?" Neville asked, a bit baffled. "I don't think anyone is going to be poisoning me."

"You're going to be on the Wizengamot, lad," Moody pointed out, unimpressed by the boy's skepticism. "If you're good at Herbology, can you honestly tell me you'd know if someone had snuck ground Venomous Tentacula leaves or Snargaluff essence into your pumpkin juice in the morning?"

Neville had gone quite pale by the end of that speech and just shook his head quickly in denial. Harry also felt a bit spooked and made a note to get his hands on a bezoar to take with him in case someone poisoned him. Considering how many people wanted him dead, it was a miracle no one had done so.

"In Hogwarts, you will probably be safe in the Great Hall if you're vigilant," Moody pointed out. "The elves take care of any food they bring to the table to ensure it's not poisoned or charmed with anything dangerous. But, if someone snuck in some food of their own or put poison directly into your goblet, that's the end for you. It pays to practice constant vigilance!"

The man said the last two words in a louder voice, startling both young Gryffindors at once.

"But you'll both leave the safety of the castle eventually and out there the game gets ugly," the man continued. "Both of your families were famous for defying You-Know-Who back in the day and you can bet that more than one of his followers wants to end your line and take vengeance on your parents."

Neville and Harry exchanged a nervous glance. Although Harry had expected to fight a lot in his life, what with his experiences so far and due to the scope of his ambition, he had not once given thought to the idea of having to defend against poisoning. Both students exchanged a terse nod and got their wands out.

Moody's magical eye quickly spun to look at Neville's wand and analyzed it unblinkingly. Suddenly, the Auror's hand gripped the boy's wrist without warning and brought the wand closer to his face.

"This is not your wand, Longbottom," the man growled lowly.

"I've always used it," Neville said quietly.

"You shouldn't be using it," Moody barked, making Neville flinch back and then redden in evident anger. Harry leaned back from the boy, never having seen him get angry before.

"It's an honor to be using my dad's wand," he gritted out before trying to stand and leave the room in a huff. Before he could even leave his chair, Moody struck him with a Sticking Charm, and the boy stood with the chair still attached to his bottom.

"Sit down, boy," the Auror ordered roughly. "Augusta is an idiot for giving you that wand. Is it hard for you to cast spells in class, Longbottom?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Neville snarled. Harry had to blink in shock again, not expecting anger from the shy and even-mannered boy.

"Because that's not your wand, boy," Moody said with a hint of triumph. "If the wand is not compatible with your magic, it makes it a lot harder for you to cast any spells."

Neville took that sentence in silence before his entire body sagged, and the anger that had fueled him faded away. "Is that why?" He asked tiredly.

"It certainly hasn't helped you, lad," Moody said, lightly hitting the desk with his closed fist to emphasize his point.

"I just wanted to be like them," Neville admitted softly. Harry nodded absently. He could share the feeling. He had also wanted to be like his parents many times during his life in Hogwarts and had eaten up every crumb of information he came across about them.

"Longbottom, you'll never be quite like them and that's not a bad thing," the Auror pointed out as gently as he could. "Be yourself, lad. Trying to be someone else is just inviting a lifetime of inner suffering."

Neville didn't say anything, but he didn't deny it either. It would likely be as good a response as anyone could expect from him under the circumstances, and Moody seemed to agree.

"Go off then, sonnies. I'll have a talk with Augusta about the wand. Feel free to swing by the office whenever you want to learn about your parents."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass grumbled irritatedly as her alarm struck 3 AM. Casting a Silencing Spell on her feet, she walked gingerly to the Slytherin Common Room, taking her notebook with her after changing into her school robes.

It had been two days since she had revealed the Slytherin Portrait to the House. As she expected, the news was sensational enough that the Dark students had elected to ask for instructions from their families instead of acting on their own volition. She could anticipate an incoming wave of pressure against her and wanted to be ready in case something happened.

Another source of concern was Madeleine's safety. The previous day had been the first Transfiguration lesson for the First-Years and as anticipated, the prowess from the Muggle-borns had been the talk of the school. Notedly, Madeleine herself appeared as the most magically talented student in the year from that one lesson, which provided Daphne with a somewhat bittersweet situation. Of course, a magically powerful First-Year is a protegé to claim, and Daphne knew the girl deeply respected her already. Taking her formally under her wing would be a matter of formality. However, someone would eventually connect the dots that she likely belonged to the prodigious group of Muggle-born students that were looking to dominate the First-Year instead of being a French Half-blood or Pureblood, as some suspected.

It was almost a guarantee that those letters sent home would contain inquiries about a Tessier family from France, and the responses would not be kind.

Therefore, Daphne was studying the Common Room and planning. She did not anticipate a widespread source of violence since Salazar had shown his ability to manipulate the many snakes in the place. Any open conflict would heavily tilt Daphne's way, so long as she could request Salazar's presence with a tap of her wand against the portrait, as they had arranged two days prior. What Daphne was anticipating was a constant wave of harassment and the methodical elimination of students one by one as the Dark tried to regain their hold over the dungeons, by fear if nothing else.

They would not draw battle lines and stand behind them purposefully. That was not the Slytherin way, even moreso when loss seemed more likely than victory. But picking students off one by one, not allowing respite, denying Daphne's protection? Those would be the strategies that the Dark families would likely use until they were ascendant again. And Madeleine would probably stand in the middle of it all as soon as someone caught wind of her heritage. She would be a symbol of the elements of Slytherin by which the Dark would not abide.

Daphne had drawn up a map of the surroundings with Tracey the previous night, taking care to note down the passageways that could allow for easy transit through the many levels of the Slytherin Dungeons. If Harry had been a Slytherin alumnus, or if Daphne were a Parselmouth, they could set up a system of decorative stone snakes to spy on the students. Serena was already near Daphne's feet, presumably as an additional source of information for Harry other than the portrait itself, although Daphne suspected the boomslang was also there for her protection if someone caught her unawares. Harry's insistence that she carried the antidote for boomslang venom with her seemed to indicate his intentions.

But Harry wasn't a Slytherin, and the man himself was not going to be in the Dungeons as a permanent fixture, preferring the environment of his Chamber. So, Daphne planned.

She took out her wand and started to move the chairs and sofas of the Common Room around. She slotted one of the largest sofas in the room neatly nearby a corner with no windows or paintings and had a perfect view of the entrance to the room. She stuffed the seats of the sofa with pillows to make them taller and covered the difference with a blanket she had a Seventh-Year conjure for her the previous day. This way, anyone that would question her group would have to look up at her from her chosen spot on the corner seat of the black sofa itself. Using the same trick she had learned from over the summer with Harry and Granger, she used a runic array to trigger a delayed transfiguration and de-transfiguration on a nightstand she gently put in the very corner of the room. One flick of her wand and a burst of magic with her specific magic signature and the nightstand would transform into the majestic armchair in which she was sitting when she presented Slytherin House with its Founder's portrait. If she ever had to hold court over the House, she would do it in style.

The Slytherin Portrait she kept behind the same ornate table, taking care to put two moving, medium-sized stone snakes on the corners of the table. Anyone trying to sit there would do so only with Salazar's - and thus Daphne's or Harry's - permission.

More relevant to her strategy were the passageways. She removed any clutter or furniture from the path of any necessary tunnels or hidden corridors that would allow her to traverse to different parts of the Dungeons if an emergency arose. She marked down in red ink in her notebook the planned route to the First-Year dormitories in case she was in the Common Room and needed to get there quickly, carefully gluing tiny red dots as she made her way along. Anyone on her side would know the meaning of the color. There were seven other routes she had planned with Salazar and Tracey the day before that she now mapped out, using a different color for each. They showed the way to each year's dormitory - and one to Snape's office - but her allies knew that the battleground would be in the First and Second Years. Astoria's and Madeleine's. Green and red.

The older years had already shown their colors over the years and the few unaffiliated were leaning her way after Salazar's reveal. Daphne's year was the fulcrum on which the Dark began to outweigh the Grey and the current Third Years faced the same situation. The younger two years could provide a counterpoint to the Third-Years by the time that Daphne had graduated, but only if they went the Grey's way. That was assuming that Daphne held her control until then, of course.

Daphne had arranged for Tracey to tell the First and Second-Years to never walk alone inside the Dungeons and to avoid the same thing outside. Both girls suspected that the Dark families would not welcome an open conflict in the school at large, knowing that the Light families would smell blood in the water and pounce on a weakened Slytherin. For now, the Light was a far fiercer opponent in their minds than the Grey.

Daphne sighed, knowing she was bound to be called to the Headmaster's Office any day now that she had revealed Slytherin's portrait. It was surprising that it hadn't already happened.

Tracey had suggested that they request the older students to walk around the Dungeons to see if they could spot anything untoward happening to the younger students, but Daphne didn't want to antagonize the few Prefects that were from Grey families by imposing on another group of students to do their jobs. Seeing the map drawn in her notebook, she wondered if that was the right move.

"It is quite late, Miss Greengrass," echoed Salazar's portrait as she returned to the Common Room after finishing sticking the last of the routes, a black path to Snape's office. Daphne had noticed how the man referred to Harry as 'Child,' but to her as 'Miss Greengrass' only.

"I was finishing my planning for the upcoming months," the girl sighed tiredly before choosing a place to sit where she could face the portrait directly. The stone snakes nodded to her as she sat down near the portrait's table.

"It is a good move on your part," the man acknowledged with a nod. "Preparation is always key to ensure success."

"Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance," Daphne intoned seriously, remembering the words from her father.

"Ah, the British Army," Salazar confirmed knowingly before looking around the room. "I like what you have done with the place."

"I suited it to my needs," the girl shrugged. "It is not forbidden to reorder the Common Room. No one had ever thought of doing it so extensively before."

"True. People do tend to accept things that have existed since time immemorial without question, and I do not know when the last time that the Dungeons went through an actual physical change was," the Founder said calmly. "Do you anticipate any backlash in the morning?"

"Nothing I can't deal with, but if you were there it would go smoother," Daphne admitted. She closed her notebook and hesitated slightly before asking in a softer voice. "How is Harry?"

"It depends on the reason for why you are asking, Miss Greengrass," the man said with a hint of amusement.

"Ah," Daphne said, trying to contain her embarrassment but mostly feeling resigned. "You know, then."

"Of course I do," the portrait scoffed dismissively before continuing dryly. "You are an intelligent young woman, but you are still a teenager, and teenagers are objectively terrible at hiding romantic feelings."

The girl winced and asked timidly, "That bad?"

"Frankly? For someone who is looking for the signs, it is as plain as day," the man said firmly, making the girl grimace slightly. "Although I do not expect any other students to notice it unless they look closely, which they have no reason to do."

"But the Professors would be able to tell," Daphne finished the thought, feeling tired. She already knew that Flitwick knew, but the half-goblin had spent an entire summer in their presence. It would be difficult to hide anything from him. If the Professors knew, however, it would not take long for the more relevant families to receive the word, even more so if Snape figured it out. The man would share the news for no other reason than to spite Harry. She was not ready for the shitstorm that would come then.

"I would be careful in the presence of Dumbledore in particular," Salazar said somewhat darkly. Daphne frowned a bit before connecting the dots and releasing a long breath.

"If he knew about it, he would immediately suspect that Harry had something to do with the Grey's movements," she said, to the older man's approval. She deflated, wanting to make the world know how unfair it was to make her attraction to the boy so hard to pursue, but she kept to a single irritated huff, which made Salazar chuckle. They stayed in silence as Daphne reviewed her notes and the portrait analyzed the changes that had been made to the room since he had been there two days prior. Finally, Daphne broke the silence. "How is Harry, though?"

"Distraught," the man admitted after having a long look at the girl's face. "I believe that after spending so long doing things during the summer, Hogwarts has provided him with an opportunity to reflect on his actions, and he has found himself wanting."

"His actions during the summer were nothing short of amazing," Daphne frowned before sighing slightly. "I really should try to convince him more often of the magnitude of what he is trying to do."

"That realization needs to come from within him, or it will be pointless," Salazar pointed out, waiting for Daphne's reluctant nod to continue. "He has ordered some meditation incense from an older friend. He told me that he tried it once, and it gave him an insight he is still trying to decipher."

"Meditation would do him good in the future," Daphne said pensively. "It should help combat his more... impulsive nature."

"Yes," Salazar drawled. "His future."

The tone the portrait had adopted was vastly different than any that Daphne had seen before, and it quickly put her on edge.

"Indeed," she intoned calmly, despite the growing apprehension. "Harry needs to be less impulsive, or it will cost him greatly."

"I would not wait for that to happen if I were you, Miss Greengrass. The boy is still a Gryffindor, at least in part," Salazar said smoothly, before tilting his head slightly to the side as if he were analyzing a notable bug in an ant colony. It made Daphne feel impossibly small. When he continued speaking, his voice was hollow and dry, making the portrait feel a lot more sinister than usual. "You seem to take a large interest in the boy's future, Miss Greengrass."

"I make no secret of my interest in him to you," Daphne responded, feeling slightly miffed. The portrait already knew of her attraction to Harry; to what use was it to rub her face on it?

"Are you interested in the boy or the future Lord, I wonder?" Salazar said in the same academically interested but emotionally detached voice, sending chills down her spine. The accusation also made Daphne feel angry as if she were only interested in Harry for his titles.

"Both things can be true," she said coldly.

"I have no doubts that you are intensely attracted to both parts of him," Salazar said mockingly before turning serious. "That is not the point. Part of you is no doubt slowly falling in love with the teenager he is, and the other part of you fixates on the Wizengamot Lord he ought to be, doubtlessly because it is what the world expects of you as the Greengrass Heiress. For you, power is an aphrodisiac, as is the case with many magicals. Even if you cared only for his future, I would not lambast you."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" She hissed angrily, flushed at the accusations lobbed her way. If she were calmer, she would notice the irony of wishing that Harry be less impulsive when she lost any emotional control at being tangentially accused of caring only for his future position.

"Because the woman I loved could not pick between loving what I was and what I would have become, and she finally embraced the latter," Salazar said stonily, even though Daphne could see the edges of sadness invading his tone. "The problem with looking to the future is that you miss the present, and there was a permanent dissonance between us over the decades as a result. I do not question the validity of your feelings, but be wary of looking too much at the horizon, or you will lose him. Or worse, you will win him and condemn him to a life of unfulfilled expectations."

Daphne did not know what to say to that, and when the portrait left a minute later to return to the Chamber, she stood staring at the empty frame.

* * *

It took them a week to figure out Madeleine's heritage. By that time, the girl had made some tentative friendships with people in her year, but it was clear that the news had unnerved some of them. To her credit, the young girl did not seem too upset when the people with whom she was talking the previous day turned their noses up at her, but Daphne could see the way her eyes lost a bit of their shine whenever it happened.

It hurt a lot more than she thought it did and she could feel her outward mask slip a few times. It would have been a point of concern if a much larger one hadn't emerged from the discovery.

The looks that Draco and his followers gave Madeleine were making Daphne's skin crawl. It was clear on his gaze that he did not consider the girl a fellow human being and the permanent sneer etched on his face was cold and predatory. It looked like someone waiting for the best moment to step on a cockroach. The tense atmosphere was enough to make Daphne deeply uncomfortable.

To their luck, the Half-bloods in First-Year had caught onto the fact that Daphne seemed to be close to Tessier and continued their friendship. But it was clear that the Purebloods did not know how to act. Some were fiercely entrenched on the side of blood purity and did not treat even the Half-bloods with courtesy, but Tracey had caught more than one Pureblood firstie looking forlorn at the possibility of leaving Madeleine alone. Doubly so now that the entire school had heard about the girl's magical prowess.

Harry had already used the opportunity to publically speak with Madeleine in the Great Hall. It was a clever move to the other three Houses, making it clear that the girl was on his radar, if not explicit protection, but in Slytherin, its effects were doubtful. If nothing else, it created an enormous inflammatory divide between those who detested Harry Potter and those who didn't.

Daphne was much more on edge now that the previous day Harry had managed to get his hands on the rankings of students for the end of last year through the Weasley Twins. In less than an hour, the Professors admitted that they were accurate, and in less than a day, a surge of letters from parents demanded that the ranking be made public from then on. After all, bragging rights for their children were a valuable commodity in social functions.

Predictably, Granger was the top student of their year. Worryingly for Draco and his speech on Pureblood supremacy, every single top spot for every single subject was occupied by a Muggle-born, Half-Blood, or non-Dark Pureblood in their year. Harry got DADA and Charms, Longbottom got Herbology, Daphne got Potions, Sue Li got Ancient Runes, Granger got History of Magic, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy, Lavender Brown got Divination, Padma Patil got Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy.

In the end, the best Dark family Pureblood in the year was Nott, something that was obviously enraging Draco - who, to be fair, was academically intelligent in his own right. Yet, he had only been ninth in the year. And, worst of all, one spot behind Harry Potter, and five behind Daphne, the two people he hated the most in school, not counting Granger.

Draco was dangerous as it was, but an angry Draco was unpredictable. Particularly when he was receiving instructions from Lucius. Daphne let out a shaky breath of relief when Madeleine exited the Common Room unharmed. Tracey patted her shoulder sympathetically and a few older students looked her way as well. It was clear to all that Daphne considered Madeleine under her protection, and it was also clear to everyone that said protection was going to be tested. It looked like it had held for another day.

"C'mon girl, we have the rankings to gossip about," Tracey said jovially, trying her best to bring Daphne out of her slump.

"They're not that surprising," Daphne said in fake exasperation. Yet, she dutifully got the overall rankings from her bag.

"I didn't think Granger was getting the top spot," Zabini admitted grumpily from near them. From the instant that the news about the rankings had leaked, a lot of students began gambling on the results, and he got off quite a few galleons lighter.

"Are you daft, Blaise?" Tracey asked incredulously. "The girl is the favorite for every single teacher out there."

"Yeah, I thought someone was going to overtake her," Blaise admitted with a shrug. "Muggle-borns aren't normally the top spot with how long they take to adapt to Hogwarts."

"How would we know?" Tracey asked. "It's not as if the rankings were public before this year."

"Just a feeling, I suppose," the Italian boy granted.

"These feelings are sounding an awful lot like a rationalization for prejudice if you ask me," Tracey pointed out dryly. Blaise huffed in righteous indignation and was about to retort when Daphne cut off the incoming argument.

"Before you begin with this quarrel, let's see the list again, hm?" She said, putting it down elegantly on the table surrounding the sofa where they sat. A few of the older years around them scooted over to see the results for the Fourth-Years, who had called a fair bit of attention to themselves as a result of Draco's and Daphne's dispute.

**OVERALL RANKINGS FOR THE GRADUATING THIRD-YEAR STUDENTS**

1\. Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)

2\. Padma Patil (Ravenclaw)

3\. Sue Li (Ravenclaw)

4\. Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin)

5\. Theodore Nott (Slytherin)

6\. Ernest Macmillan (Hufflepuff)

7\. Anthony Goldstein (Ravenclaw)

8\. Harry Potter (Gryffindor)

9\. Draco Malfoy (Slytherin)

10\. Susan Bones (Hufflepuff)

"Potter did a lot better than I expected," Zabini said, looking at his ranking.

"He is magically powerful," Tracey pointed out neutrally, knowing there was no way for Daphne to take that question without raising alarms.

"You're missing the most important thing," a Seventh-Year called Aileen pointed out with a smirk. "It's a witches' world."

"Only in their year, Aileen," Bole answered with a cocky smile. No one had expected the unassuming Beater to be the top graduating Sixth-Year, even though it was common knowledge he had achieved excellent results on his OWLs

"I was surprised Stimpson got in the top 10 for the graduating Fifth-Years," someone grumbled at the back. "The girl couldn't stop fainting and she got sixth? I thought she would have flunked her OWLs"

"You're just grouchy Stimpson got in the top 10 and you didn't," a girl said reasonably.

"You say that like you're on the list, Sterling."

"Oh, I'm a moron," the girl said brightly with no shame whatsoever. "I have other talents."

"Your entire year is moronic academically," a Seventh-Year drawled. "Seriously, Warrington is an idiot, how come he is the only Fifth-Year Slytherin in the best ten students? Everyone knew Diggory was getting first, but still, at least have one of us in the top three."

"The graduating Fifth-Years are mostly Quidditch players, yeah?" A Sixth-Year boy retorted. "We bring glory to Slytherin in other ways."

"That would work if we brought glory to Slytherin at all," Bole scoffed. "Flint was a shit captain, and Draco's broom measuring contest with Potter served no one but himself."

"You traitor!" Someone yelled from far away.

"We're shit, mate!" Another person answered.

"Better than the Duffers, at least," Blaise snorted.

"They got Diggory. He's the second-best Seeker in Hogwarts," Bole disagreed.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Tracey reminded them. "No Quidditch this year."

A lot of people grumbled angrily about the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

"We really should have some pickup games, you know?" Bole asked dreamily.

"We don't have the balls, though," Sterling mentioned. "Hooch keeps them locked."

"We can order one, then," Bole shrugged. "It's not expensive, and I don't think there's a rule against pickup games."

"I can check later, for a price," Tracey said with a greedy glint in her eyes.

"Calm down, Davis," the boy smirked. "I'll just ask Hooch. Snape loves me; I'm the top Potions student in our year."

"Then focus on your NEWTs and keep it that way. Let me take care of it for you," the girl said with a sweet smile. Bole just laughed, causing her to pout before continuing. "Are you thinking about putting your name in the Tournament?"

"Nah, not really. I'm looking to defend my top spot, and NEWTs are going to take up most of my year. Derrick was thinking of doing it, but he has no chance, not with Diggory and Johnson looking to do it too," Bole said agreeably.

"Is our best option going to be Warrington?" Someone asked, horrified. "Oy, Aileen, try it out, yeah?"

"No way," the girl shook her head fiercely. "I was not happy with my ranking and if you think I'm going to just let that idiot keep the top spot, you're mental."

Daphne smiled a bit at the light environment. The Dungeons could feel a bit stilted at times with the politics of the House, and she knew she ought to keep an eye out for Malfoy, but it was fun to be in a light and carefree conversation with the Slytherin House in the open for once. Astoria placing third in her year had also made Daphne feel very proud of her little sister. She was really liking the adrenaline rush after Madeleine had left the room unscathed, confident that no one would attack her outside the Dungeons.

"I was surprised that I was not the best-ranked Slytherin this year," Nott said softly, looking at the group of Grey children with a tilted head that reminded Daphne eerily of Salazar himself. The conversation between everyone near the sofa died out quickly when he started talking.

"You say that like you didn't expect to be the best-ranked student," Daphne pointed out.

"I didn't," the boy shrugged with one shoulder. "Only a fool would not recognize that Granger is the most intelligent student in our year."

"How oddly progressive of you," Tracey said dryly. It was no secret that Nott was the elitist kind of blood supremacist, not respecting anyone without a long lineage of Wizengamot seat holders. "What would Daddy think?"

"You mistake my acceptance of her intelligence for my acceptance of her privilege," Nott said with a cold smile. "She is rather the exception that proves the rule when it comes to the Mudbloods in my opinion."

Daphne had always found how Nott said the world mudblood to be much worse than the way that Draco did. Nott said it with absolute calm, almost like he was an academic talking about a species of plant. Malfoy's was full of posture and disgust, like an exterminator. But there was no doubt in Daphne's mind that if she were a Muggle-born, it would be Nott who would be capable of doing unspeakable things if for no other reason than to sate his curiosity about the limits of magic.

"Privilege?" Tracey sputtered indignantly. "Muggle-borns are treated as second-class citizens at the best of times."

"Nonsense," Nott waved his hand. "We have already given them too much ground and lost the privileges of the Noble families in the process."

"Will you be moving to censure these lists from appearing in the future?" Blaise asked with a hard glint on his eye. Despite being a Pureblood, Nott's disdain for the foreign boy was clear at all times, even more so than his prejudice against Tracey. "After all, it gets hard to say you should rule over us when a Muggle-born is consistently in the first place of our year, isn't it?"

"You are mistaking me with Draco, Zabini," Nott drawled. "I do not take my superiority for granted. I think the lists act as a blessing. Too many of our own have forgotten that it takes work to be a proper Pureblood. Draco takes it for granted, and that is why he is only ninth."

"Shouldn't a proper Pureblood always be first?" Daphne asked mockingly, pointing out how she was one spot ahead of him.

"There are many ways in which a Pureblood proves his superiority, Greengrass," Nott said amusedly. "None of them matter in Hogwarts. Why do you think I am so inconspicuous here?"

At that moment, a young Second-Year burst through the Common Room and frantically ran towards Daphne, pushing people out of the way.

"Someone is going to ambush Tessier on the seventh floor!" The girl hissed, distraught. Immediately, Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, and a smattering of other students sprung from their seats and began a dead sprint as they ran to the top floor, with Greengrass cursing herself the entire way for not predicting that someone would attack Madeleine outside the Dungeons.

"See? There are many ways," Nott smiled enigmatically to himself before turning away silently.

* * *

At the same time, Harry was sitting in the Great Hall, eating breakfast quite late. He had been surprised to get such a high ranking on last year's tests and had gotten a lot of surprised looks as he made his way to his seat. Hermione was extremely pleased with herself for getting first place overall but confessed she was very unhappy about not cracking the top five on DADA and Ancient Runes. Ron just rolled his eyes, happy that he wasn't in the bottom ten of the year, and kept on eating.

Neville seemed very surprised that he got first place on Herbology, something which made the entire table scoff at him. The boy's practical work had already seen a marked improvement since Moody forced his grandmother to pick him up and take him to Ollivander's, lest he take the boy himself, but his self-confidence remained very low.

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had all gotten very high marks on their tests, making the entire table look at the Flying Foxes differently. On the other hand, George and Fred were almost giddy with anticipation at receiving their howlers for placing near the bottom of their year. Ginny was happy with her eight-place finish, and Harry could see that the odd blonde girl from Arithmancy class - Luna Lovegood - had gotten first-place in as many classes as Hermione. Considering she had yet to take a single elective, Lovegood was very impressive.

Harry looked at the rankings again and allowed himself to be surprised more than once. He initially wanted the rankings to be made public as a way of showing off the results of his tutoring of the Muggle-born firsties, and maybe to taunt Malfoy on how Hermione was better than him in every subject - she was, though it was a close thing in Potions. Yet, it was helping him rebuild his view on many of the students with whom he had not been familiar. Particularly the younger years, to whom he was looking to become a stronger influence.

Seamus, who was oddly proud of placing at the very bottom at Potions, just one spot behind Neville, sat down with a huff near Harry.

"Did you hear about that Muggle-born Slytherin?" He asked, grabbing a large piece of bacon.

"The smart one with the creepy eyes?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food.

"Don't be mean, Ronald!" Hermione scolded him with a scowl. "The girl isn't creepy."

"She's got those big, round eyes, though," he said uncaringly. "They say whenever she's about to cast a spell, her eyes just go dim and then brighten up like crazy. Do you reckon there's some creature blood in her?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Parvati said with a huff that was replicated by a lot of girls on the table. "There are no creatures that do that, she is just different."

"Isn't that worse?" He asked incredulously.

"How can you say that?!" Hermione screeched, her face reddening quickly as she drew closer to snapping at the confused and gaping Ron.

"What about her, Seamus?" Harry asked cautiously, interrupting the incoming argument. Daphne had shown him the precautions she was taking with Madeleine's safety, but it was still a soft spot on his conscience. The girl likely would not have been sorted there if it wasn't for her exposure to Daphne, something he was at fault for providing.

"A Ravenclaw overheard some older Slytherins planning an ambush on the girl," he said grimly. "Said she went to the teachers and got told that they'd keep an eye on her but couldn't do anything about it until someone did something outside the rules."

Harry stopped his motion midbite and looked wide-eyed at the Irishman, who looked back at Harry with an expression of angry resignation. Harry began to fidget under the table, wanting to figure out a way to validate this claim and see what he could do to protect the girl, but maybe he should stay? Perhaps someone had additional information on Madeleine's situation?

"That is such a stupid argument," Angelina frowned nearby. "When the Aurors get a hint of something happening, they don't just shrug and say it's outside their jurisdiction just because the crime hasn't happened yet."

"I bet Snape wants to deal with it internally," Fred said darkly.

"You mean he wants to hide it under that cloak of his, yeah?" George added just as grimly, which sobered up the mood of the table quickly.

"I heard that some students are calling her 'the mad-blood of Slytherin' because of the way she behaves," Lavender whispered.

"Merlin," Neville said weakly, to the horrified nods of the people around him. Harry felt a growing sense of dread surrounding his heart and was planning on speaking with Daphne as soon as he could, but the blonde Slytherin was not in the Great Hall. Harry exchanged a quick glance with Hermione, noticing that his best friend was gnawing at her lower lip and her eyes were shining with earnest concern. The entire table seemed subdued and pitied the young girl.

Except for Ron, of course, who obliviously commented, "I doubt the snakes are going to hunt against their own," he pointed out uncaringly. "Who cares anyway?"

"She's a Muggle-born in Slytherin, mate," Dean laughed nervously as the table looked at Ron beyond belief. "She's probably the student in the most danger at the school right now."

"I doubt it," Ron scowled. "Slytherins never act against their own. I bet the whole thing is fake and she's not even a Muggle-born. What kind of Muggle-born gets sorted into Slytherin?"

"You are unbelievable, Ronald. I'm going to find that poor girl," Hermione said, angrily getting up from the table and briskly walking away.

"Let's have a conversation about tact, yeah, little brother?" Fred said, rapidly encircling the table and grabbing Ron's arm before he continued eating.

"Maybe one day it'll finally make its way through your thick skull and stick," George added happily, grabbing the other arm.

"Do you reckon we should look into actually gluing it in there, brother of mine?" Fred asked, ignoring the sputters of protest as Ron got dragged away from the table.

"I'm all ears, slightly-less-good-looking brother," George said as they managed to push Ron across the door, where he had been trying to hold on.

"But I can still very clearly see the rest of your ugly mug, younger brother," Fred pointed out in a fake confused voice.

"By one minute!" George yelled distantly.

The rest of the table looked at the door through which the Weasley brothers had vanished, and Harry got up. "I'd better go look for Hermione," he sighed, waving goodbye as he left.

Instead of following the way Hermione had huffed her way through, Harry immediately turned a corner and got out the Marauder's Map. He examined each floor until he reached the seventh and saw Madeleine Tessier and another girl called Elena Pritchard being followed by Miles Bletchley, Adrian Pucey, and Graham Montague. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were moving through the adjacent corridor, cutting off their escape. Severus Snape was also hanging around suspiciously close to the scene. He noted a bunch of Slytherins, led by Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise Zabini, making their way out of their Common Room in a hurry.

They wouldn't get there in time.

"Fuck!" He yelled, hastily storing the Map back in his pocket and running as fast as he could to a passage he knew would take him to the sixth floor. From there he could run to the seventh floor using the regular stairway and hopefully stop them from hurting the girl before they started. He bumped into someone roughly and apologized rapidly over his shoulder, but his mind was elsewhere at the moment, focusing on making the way to the intended destination.

He very nearly fell crumpled to the ground when he turned left faster than he ought to have when he finally reached the secret passage. Whenever he would have to go through one of the passages he had learned over the years in Hogwarts, he always took great care to see if anyone was seeing him. As best he could, he wanted to preserve the castle's secrets, particularly those he had discovered because of the Marauders' Map. At that point, however, he just burst through the painting that would throw him to the sixth floor without looking in either direction to ensure he wasn't alone, and upon revisiting that memory he would be pretty sure he saw a Hufflepuff gape at him as he crossed into the painting without the thing bursting in half.

When he arrived on the sixth floor, he yelled wordlessly when he recognized that he had no idea how to get to the stairway by heart from his position, and he had to grab the Map again. With a trembling hand, he traced the way he had to travel, trying to ignore how the three boys were already towering over the two girls on the Map, and how the three Fourth-Years were closing in from the opposite direction.

Cursing himself for not paying attention to any incoming tension against Madeleine, he ran the rest of the way and finally skidded into the seventh floor. He was immediately greeted by a rough laugh echoing in the empty corridor - which of course, had no portraits to report any trouble.

"Don't stun the bint. Petrify her so that she can tell all the ickle firsties what happens when you consort with the Slytherin mudblood," Montague snarled. A quick _Petrificus Totalus_ from Goyle, it seemed, did the trick, and the older boy continued laughing when Pritchard fell down roughly. "Did you think we wouldn't notice, Frenchie? Thought that your manners and silly little bows and curtsies would be enough to hide the mudblood in you?"

"You can't hide the mud, little girl," Pucey laughed before casting a strong Diffindo that cut off bits of her hair, making the girl yell in fright and collapse trembling in the ground. "You don't belong here, and we'll make you remember that."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" The girl yelled desperately, to the boys' laughing joy.

"Oh, be quiet, you little shit," snarled Montague, slapping her roughly before she silenced the girl with a quick flick of the wand.

"Who goes first?" Bletchley asked in a deceptively polite tone. "Malfoy?"

At that point, Harry was at a distance where he trusted his casting not to hurt Madeleine instead. It had taken a tight hold of his emotions to get to that point; he felt such scalding fury that he trembled in sheer rage. He had never felt such anger in his life, and it was burning in his eyes. His heart was beating rapidly and his breaths came uneven and closer to growls and snarls than the rhythmic breathing from a regular human being. When Madeleine was slapped, he felt the haze of rage consume his thoughts, and his initial strategy of stunning them in the back rapidly faded away. He wanted to make them feel pain. When the girl he had spent the entire summer nurturing and teaching looked in his direction, her teary eyes lighting up with hope and recognition, he felt ready to rip the limbs from every single one of the six students surrounding her, slowly and without remorse.

Mentally recalling the spells from Dolohov's book that he thought would induce the most pain, he interrupted Draco as he raised his wand in the direction of Madeleine with a rough snarl, barely remembering to not slip into Parseltongue.

" _Flagello Cultello_ ," he said quickly, rejoicing at the sound of sheer pain and surprise that erupted from Draco as the razors dug into his wand arm, forcing him to release it and draping his arm in warm blood.

"What the fuck?!" Someone yelled, turning in Harry's direction. Before they could do anything, Harry was already casting the next spells.

" _Tumeo Oculto_ ," he said, listening as Goyle yelled and fell to the ground when the Conjunctivitis Curse connected. " _Flipendo_ ," he cast at Crabbe, who had abandoned the idea of using his wand and was running aggressively with his fists raised against Harry, throwing him against Malfoy, who was struggling to stand still.

Now the three older students were facing Harry and began casting their spells. Cursing his idiocy in not taking out the strongest opponents first, he began pivoting his way around their curses.

"Little Potter wants to fight, does he?" Montague snarled, before casting a bludgeoner right at his chest.

Harry's eyes widened in recognition, knowing that if the spell landed oddly, he could die. When he pivoted and narrowly avoided getting hit, the last of his restraints vanished, and he lost what little caution he was still using.

" _Expulso_ ," he said roughly, the spell colliding with the wall near Bletchley. Just as the boy was about to mock him for missing, Harry used the trick from the World Cup and cast a strong _Flagrante_ before banishing the large chunks of rock towards the boy, who yelled as his skin and robes began to burn.

While Pucey cast an Aquamenti to help his ailing comrade, Montague cast a Diffindo aimed at Harry's neck. Harry ducked under the angry red spell and remembered some of the more painful non-lethal curses on Dolohov's book.

" _Ossis Fragmen_ ," he cast at Pucey's legs, enjoying the loud snapping sound almost as much the boy's scream as his femur broke in half and he fell to the ground. Bletchley seemed to recognize that Harry wasn't playing around and began to focus on shielding, but Montague took the opportunity to come closer, casting stronger and stronger Cutting and Bludgeoner Curses in turn. It was clear that Montague was the strongest of the lot; the three Fourth-Years were still moaning and writhing on the floor behind Harry, Pucey was sobbing in pain while clutching his fractured leg and Bletchley was hiding behind the strongest shield he could cast.

Not needing to fake his defensive position as Montague had finally hit him with a Bludgeoner to the gut, taking the air from his lungs roughly, Harry had to abandon the pivot and shield against an incoming Incendio that threatened to burn Madeleine. Quickly recognizing that Harry needed to protect the paralyzed firstie, Bletchley began to throw curses the girl's way as Montague continued to focus on Harry, laughing darkly at the raven-haired boy's discomfort.

After having to throw his arm in the way of a Cutting Curse that would have hit Madeleine instead, he began trying to think of a way of stopping the curses flowing his way before he couldn't protect the younger girl anymore and settled on a strategy that would have made Daphne want to murder him.

Drawing as much magic as he could, he cast firmly, " _FULMINIS_!"

Instead of the weak lightning bolt that he had cast in the World Cup, an enormous and hissing yellow light exploded from the tip of his wand, throwing Harry down to the ground and echoing with an enormous bang around the corridor, that began shaking in earnest from the strength of the blast. Harry felt enormously light-headed, and it was only Madeleine's scared whimpers that gave him the energy to stand up, wobbly as his legs were. He knew he had to leave; there was no way that Snape didn't hear that - Harry reckoned that everyone not in the Great Hall would have heard the noise, if not felt the tremble. The damage from the curse was obvious - the stones where the lightning had touched had angry black markings from which an ominous smoke emanated, two knight armors were melted from the impact of the blast, and some stone archways on the corridor had cracks on them. Bletchley was out, with his robes frazzled and burned and his body jerking spastically; the boy was clearly in enormous pain. Montague had raised a hasty shield that, while not blocking the curse entirely, had stopped it from affecting him as much as it had affected his partner in crime.

The boy began laughing crazily as he got up from the floor in wincing pain. "Ooooh, you are good, aren't you, Potter? I thought Draco was onto something when he said you were all hype and no substance, but he was wrong," the boy spat out roughly and began to laugh and clap when some blood came out. "But you're spent now, aren't you? You can't even raise a shield in your condition. The Golden Boy got too distracted learning Dark magic and forgot the first rule. _Don't overdo it_."

When the boy raised his wand to curse Harry, who was already trying and failing to assume a pivot position, a familiar voice cried out.

" _Stupefy_!"

Montague fell face down on the ground, a surprised expression overcoming his sadistic delight on the last second.

"Took you awhile, Daphne," Harry said weakly as the pain of the bludgeoners caught up with him, and he was forced to a knee. Madeleine was quickly hugging his side, thanking him profusely in frantic and uncontrollable French. The other firstie was revived and began sobbing instantly, wrapping her arms around the still terrified Madeleine.

"Fucking hell, Potter, what happened?" Tracey asked, flabbergasted at the five bodies Harry had left behind him and the clear damage he had given Montague before exhausting himself, not to say anything of the damage to the corridor.

"Montague was better than I thought," he admitted with a grimace when he got up with Zabini's help. "It's a miracle I haven't cracked a rib."

"That loud noise and the rumble just now..?" An older boy he didn't recognize asked warily.

" _Fulminis_ ," Harry admitted with a wince when Daphne inhaled a deep breath as many students gasped behind her.

"You cast a Lightning Curse indoors? Are you insane?" The girl hissed, grabbing his arm painfully, making Harry gasp. Daphne quickly paled and cast _Episkey_ when she realized his arm was bleeding deeply from the curse he had taken for Madeleine.

"It was my fault," Madeleine said, her French accent in full display as she began to cry softly again in remembrance. "They noticed that Harry had to protect me, and began to throw curses in my direction, but I just froze. He even had to take a curse for me," she said before she broke down again, making her friend also cry with her. Tracey had approached them gingerly and was trying to calm them down.

"How are you so close to Tessier, Potter?" An older girl he didn't recognize asked with a curious expression.

"What makes you think I am?"

"She is calling you Harry, for one," she answered with a cocked eyebrow. "Plus, are you in the business of taking curses for people you don't know?"

"You have no idea," Daphne scoffed.

"Greengrass, what are you doing?" Harry hissed angrily, looking at the assorted Slytherin cautiously.

"You called me Daphne as soon as I arrived, Harry," the girl sighed exasperatedly, giggling at the sheepish expression that suddenly dominated the boy's expression. They all stood in silence, admiring the chaos around them silently until the sound of a door closing loudly in the distance awoke Harry from his musings.

"Is anyone here good at Memory Charms?" Harry asked with a hint of desperation bleeding into his voice in the ensuing silence.

"I am," Lucian Bole - Harry recognized him from Quidditch - said firmly. "My dad worked with the Obliviators and taught me a few tricks."

"But why?" Blaise asked confusedly. "Surely we want them to learn they can't just attack students openly. What would an obliviation accomplish?"

"I don't want their memories erased," Harry explained himself before Bole could interject. "I want their memories altered. They can't know it was me who did this. Not yet."

"Why?" Blaise insisted.

"Can you imagine what Dumbledore is going to do if he figures out I know even the slightest bit of Dark magic?" Harry said exasperatedly. The Slytherins, who knew all about the Headmaster's distaste of anything that wouldn't smell of roses in the middle of a shitstorm, winced collectively.

"Do it quickly, Bole," Daphne added urgently. "A teacher is bound to come here soon enough."

"Why should I?" The boy asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Someone's going to have to take the hit for this, why not the boy who did it?"

"Because if you take credit for it, your situation in Slytherin improves a lot," Harry pointed out before Daphne could intervene. "It would mean you can stop attacks like this from happening to younger students."

"Do you have any idea how many detentions this is going to cost us?" The suspicious girl from before whined before walking away. She didn't go away far enough that she was abandoning the group midway through the conversation, but she was far enough that it was clear she didn't want to take part in this.

"You know a lot about the ongoing situation in Slytherin House," Blaise asked with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, Bole began laughing raucously, calling attention to himself.

"Oh, Merlin, that is _genius_ ," he said brightly between wheezes. " _You're_ Daphne's friend who found Slytherin's Portrait, aren't you? She and he called you the quintessential Slytherin to draw attention away from you, but it's obvious. You're the only Parselmouth alive in Hogwarts!"

Harry, not having the energy to deny anything, just shrugged unabashedly, making Bole begin laughing even harder and making the rest of the Slytherin students gape at him incredulously. "Regardless, I need to go. I promise I'll make this worth your while, yeah? Just ask if you need anything."

"You better make it _personally_ worthwhile, Potter," Tracey said cooly. "I don't appreciate losing so much of my time scrubbing cauldrons."

"I'll do my best," he chuckled before he began patting his robe pockets absently. Then he blanched and did it again, faster. "Shit," he hissed angrily after he patted down his robes. "Snape is on this floor and I forgot my Cloak."

As soon as he spoke those words, an echo of the Professor's robes and the traditional bellowing of his robes rang in the distance, approaching in a jogging pace.

Bole started to cast Memory Charms as quickly as he could on the six fallen Slytherins, trying his best to erase any possible identifying features from Harry on their memories. He whistled appreciatively and looked at Harry with respect after looking at Montague's memories, but an impatient glance from Daphne reminded him of the urgency of the situation. In the meantime, Blaise was helping Harry standing on his own while Tracey still tried to calm the two firsties down.

"Daphne, I am going to hide. Don't look Snape in the eye, whatever you do."

"Do you mean he is a Legilimens?" Bole said incredulously as he finished with Draco and moved towards Crabbe. Daphne paled substantially when Harry nodded, as did Tracey, meaning at least both girls understood the concept, but Blaise seemed confused.

As Harry started to move, he was forced to hide behind Bole as Snape finally emerged from the corner, took a look at the disaster in front of him, and hissed with enormous prejudice. " _What is the meaning of this?_ "

The venom in his tone caught everyone by surprise, and everyone stood rooted to their ground until a silent red light appeared behind the Professor. Snape turned before the spell hit him, but the _Stupefy_ was too close to dodge, and he couldn't twist his body fast enough to identify his attacker.

"Aileen," Bole asked faintly as a girl appeared behind the fallen Snape. "Did you just stupefy our Head of House?"

"I did," the girl nodded shakily before laughing nervously.

"Bloody hell," Bole croaked as he used the closest archway as support, eyeing it nervously when tiny rocks escaped from the cracks.

"Get your story straight, yeah?" Harry said weakly, clutching his sides in pain. "I'm off."

The remaining Slytherins watched in silence as the Gryffindor walked gingerly away with hesitant steps, only the sound of the soft crying from the two firsties accompanying them. They all knew they had maybe a minute or two before the rest of the Professors found them here, let alone the mass of curious students who had heard the sound and decided to see what it could be.

After a long while of just looking around at one another, Blaise finally coughed and looked amusedly at Daphne. "So, you and Potter?"


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: Just because Snape thinks he's going to get away with things does not mean he will.

**C** **hapter Four- Nightmares**

* * *

"We won't have long before he wakes up," Aileen interrupted nervously, looking at the unconscious Potions Professor. "My spell wasn't strong."

"I need to clear my spell history," Bole said, already starting to cast spells to disguise the obliviations he had performed, knowing full well they were illegal whenever used by a non-professional.

"Remember, no one looks him in the eye," Tracey interjected before turning to the two First-Years. "We won't cast any spells on you, but please don't tell anyone what happened here. We'll tell the Professor you both hid and couldn't see what happened."

"Don't erase Montague's history either," Daphne said, looking at the older Slytherin. "By how bad Harry looked, he wasn't holding back his casting."

"Is everyone ready?" Bole asked after a minute of rushed preparations. When everyone nodded, he cast a _Renervate_ on the stunned Professor, who wavered a bit in confusion on the ground before remembering where he was and standing up quickly, looking furious once more.

"What is the meaning of this?" He looked to the crowd of standing Slytherins, as well the unconscious ones. The Muggle-born Slytherin was also there, making it perfectly obvious what had begun the incident. The six fallen Slytherins had attempted to corner and bully the Tessier girl but failed. Something was amiss, however. The injuries on Pucey were clearly from a Bone-Breaker Curse, and while the damage to the corridor was extensive, it was too uniform and linear to have come from a fight. It was more likely the result of a single curse, which would have explained the loud bang a couple of minutes ago. Whatever happened here, it involved dangerous spells, something rare within Hogwarts, where fights rarely evolved past the slightly painful jinxes. While Snape went through the list of curses he knew that could wreck that much damage without killing anyone, he once again faced the students. "Who stunned me?"

"I did, sir," Aileen pointed out meekly from behind, looking at her shoes. "It was a reflex from the fight, and I got startled."

"Did you now?" Snape sneered, making the girl flinch. Her eyes did not rise from her shoes, making her look contrite, but again, something seemed off. He turned to face the fallen students. His godson's arm had deep cuts on it, and his blood was staining his entire right side, but someone had cast something to cauterize the damage and stop the bleeding. He was not in any mortal danger. Still, he took a lot of damage and he would require a visit to the Hospital Wing as soon as possible. Goyle was a victim of a well-aimed Conjunctivitis Curse, but nothing the appropriate counter-spell couldn't fix.

All that was nothing compared to the damage inflicted on Bletchley. The boy likely took a direct hit from whatever powerful spell had damaged the corridor so extensively. He would need to be taken to the Hospital Wing first. Snape hesitated, knowing that he would not find the identity of the culprit if he left now. That would give the six the required time to fix a story together if they hadn't while he was stunned. Still, the longer he waited to question them, the worse the situation got.

A group of students started flowing to their position, and Snape did not have to manufacture his fury when talking to them. Not only had whatever happened here severely injure his godson, but it also involved Greengrass, with whom he was profoundly irritated since she had found that blasted portrait. He would need to take this to Dumbledore. The old man had been behaving oddly as of late, and he had taken the news about Slytherin very poorly.

"Leave now!" He barked to the students, who seemed too stunned by the destruction nearby to listen to him. "I SAID NOW!"

That startled them, and they slowly began moving away, still peering over their shoulders. Snape saw Warrington in the crowd and ordered him to stay.

"Mobilize the prefects and have them stop the students from coming here. If any Professors arrive, tell them that I am currently dealing with a situation among the Slytherins," he said before turning again to Bletchley, who was still spasming. "Also, call Pomfrey here."

"Yes, sir," the older student nodded before rushing out to carry his instructions.

"Now, where were we?" Snape asked smoothly, taking a look at the culprits. The only one who wasn't staring at the floor or helping calm down the firsties was Bole, who was currently his main suspect of doing the largest part of the damage. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the lack of recognizable emotion in the boy's face. He wasn't concealing his feelings as most Slytherins did. He was actively emotionless, at least outwardly. A slight push of Legilimency confirmed his initial diagnosis.

The boy was occluding him out and daring him to break through his barriers. He could, and it would be easy, but it would make any defense of his actions impossible. Actively breaking through raised barriers would constitute an attack, and Bole's father was sufficiently important in the Ministry that he could call on the DMLE to prosecute him. Although he knew he would escape without punishment, it would be an enormous hassle.

"Greengrass, look at me," Snape commanded, looking at the ringleader.

"I don't think I will, sir," the girl said politely, but firmly. Snape narrowed his eyes again. So they knew.

"I can have you expelled for such a violent attack on another student," the Professor pointed out.

"No, you cannot, not without doing the same with Montague and the others," Greengrass said firmly. "And if you try to expel me, you'll have my father to deal with."

' _And if I don't, I'll have Lucius to deal with,'_ Snape thought immediately. He would need Dumbledore to take the heat for this incident, or he would compromise his position as Malfoy's close ally in the school. The thought angered him ever further, hating having to depend on the Headmaster.

"I don't need to expel you," Snape drawled. "I can make all of your lives in the school hell until you tell me what happened."

No one said anything to that, and the Professor smirked. Hurting Slytherins was always against his instincts, but he was well-practiced in the art of making students' lives harder. Knowing he did not have enough information to question the students who were actively avoiding his gaze, he sought to find out more information. After all, the fallen students could not occlude him out.

He turned to Montague and peered into his mind. As soon as he did, he turned to the students viciously.

"You obliviated them!" He barked at Bole, seething in rage. A poorly executed obliviation could break someone's mind, and these were all students. They could have done irrevocable damage to the sons of several powerful families. Were these kids insane to do all of this over a single Muggle-born student?

"I don't know what you mean," the boy said tonelessly, again confirming his use of heavy Occlumency to shield his emotions. Snape would have been impressed if Bole hadn't been among the most promising Slytherins he had taught in his tenure.

"I know your father was an Obliviator," Snape sneered angrily. "None of the others could perform so many obliviations accurately, and given that Montague isn't a drooling pile of limbs at the moment, I'm fairly sure you were the one who did it."

"You can check my wand," the boy said, offering it without trepidation. When Snape cast _Priori Incantato,_ he saw a bunch of stunning and cutting spells. Clearly, something to do with the battle in the corridor, but nothing that could do the damage inflicted on the fallen students.

"All of you, your wands, _now_ ," he ordered. One by one, the students gave out their wands, and he examined their history, and Snape's suspicions got clearer. The only one who had cast any offensive spells was Greengrass, with a simple Stunning Charm. The others did not use anything that could do the damage required to break Pucey's leg or dismantle Bletchley. He had even failed to find the Conjunctivitis Curse used on Goyle. "You cleared your wands," he said in disgust. It was clear that they had stunned him to set their story straight, meaning he was out for longer than they had suggested.

"Again, I do not know what you mean, sir," Bole said in the same tone as before.

"Of course, I was unaware that you could use a Stunning Spell to break someone's leg in half, Mr. Bole," Snape drawled mockingly. For a second, fear shone through the boy's Occlumency, and the Potions Master concealed the urge to smirk. They had failed to set their alibis appropriately.

The Potions Master continued to examine the damage on Bletchley and the armor pieces when something tingled on the back of his Occlumency barriers. He stopped focusing on controlling his emotions, instantly feeling the boiling rage that was threatening to burst through his composure, urging him to hurt the brats who had so viciously defeated his students and focused on extending his senses.

And _there_! He hadn't noticed it because he had focused on dampening his emotions until that point, but it was clear something was on the air. He didn't even need to focus that much to sense it. It was sharp and full of anger, and he felt some of his hairs stand up in alarm.

"I smell ozone," he said faintly. When he saw Greengrass pale slightly at the comment, he focused on the girl, who had been calm until that point.

"There was a _Fulminis_ in the fight," Davis admitted. Snape saw Greengrass flinch even further. So that was what had damaged the corridor so much. It would be impressive if it weren't remarkably idiotic to cast a Lightning Curse indoors. He hadn't even considered it from how dangerous it would be to do so, but he forgot he was dealing with his dunderheaded students and not with competent adults.

"The Lightning Curse does not leave any smell of ozone in the air because it is a conjuration," Snape said in the same faint voice. "Meaning this smell is not from the curse. It's a magical discharge."

When Greengrass flinched, and Davis gulped at having her comment unknowingly reveal information, Snape again confirmed his suspicions. Once again, he began feeling discomfort rising in his chest. Not many wizards could emit any magical discharge. Although the majority of Hogwarts Professors could, almost all of them figured among the most powerful wizards in the country. Snape himself had a magical discharge that resembled a floral smell, but for a student to have the power required was rare. He suspected that even Bole did not have it. Montague, who was powerful enough to have problems with control, could have a discharge himself, but that would not explain Greengrass's reaction. It all pointed to one thing.

"So, this is your benefactor, Greengrass?" Snape said smoothly, enjoying the blossoming apprehension in the girl's face, even as she purposefully avoided his gaze. "I am going to give you an option. You can tell me who it is right now, and I will lessen your punishment. I can appease the boys' parents if I point out that they were in the middle of hurting another student, and the fight escalated from there. I'm sure that Montague's wand would point out a lot of Dark magic. Or, I can clear their wands and have you painted as the villains."

"It wouldn't work," she said firmly. "Too many students have seen the situation for your version to stick. Someone had announced the ambush in the dungeons before we arrived. People already know."

"In which case, I will give you detention every night for the rest of the year. Good luck studying for your NEWTs, Mr. Bole, if you spend every evening clearing out the Owlery without using magic."

The façade of resistance in some students' faces broke at that threat, and Bole seemed ready to concede, but a sharp look from Greengrass had the boy hesitate. After snarling slightly, he hid behind his Occlumency barriers again. Snape did not have to conceal his gleeful smirk this time.

"So be it."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy read a letter from Severus Snape that evening, and he was not pleased. Ever since that Greengrass girl had found the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the situation in Hogwarts had been deteriorating beyond his grasp. It had taken a lot of effort to stop the news about that event from exiting the school, and he knew it was a matter of time until it did. He couldn't give Hogwarts his full attention considering the noise that Greengrass Sr. was making in the Wizengamot and the Ministry at large, but the letter was making his blood boil.

He was fully prepared for Draco to fail. He knew the boy was too blunt for his own good at times, but Lucius figured that a blunt force approach was the appropriate measure to take to remind the wayward Slytherins of what their attitude towards Mudbloods ought to be. Injure the girl without taking care to hide his identity, take the slap on the wrist, and repeat until she breaks. It was not the best solution, but it was adequate, considering that Dumbledore would never expel the son of a Hogwarts Governor. Any detentions handed out by Severus would simply be private tutoring, at any rate.

Yet, his son got injured in the very first intervention. And not lightly. Someone had cursed his son. And the Greengrass girl was in the middle of it.

Lucius could feel his anger surge again. It didn't matter that the girl did not do it. She knew who had and had chosen to conceal the person's identity. He calmed down with a sip of a family wine and considered his options. The girl's position in the House had probably been cemented even further by this incident. The problem with overt action is that whenever it failed, it would backfire spectacularly. Failure is a part of the game. No one was beyond drawbacks. Even he had not succeeded in stopping Weasley's Law on Cursed Objects from passing in the Wizengamot, after all.

 _But someone had cursed his son_.

He was still unconscious a day later, and it was beyond acceptable.

 _'Greengrass will pay,_ ' Lucius thought angrily, looking at his cane briefly. The urge to end the upstart family with a curse was overwhelming, but he controlled himself. A measured opposition to the family's movements was far more effective, after all. He would have the Black library to bargain again. Cygnus was not an easy man to thwart, but his defective daughter was his weakness.

"Husband," a cold voice said from the door. Narcissa was there, eyeing him with shining anger in her beautiful blue eyes. She did not have the physical traits of her Black heritage, but the same intensity he had seen so often in Bellatrix's hateful grey shone clearly.

"So you heard," he responded cooly, eyeing his wife.

"Heard?" The woman scoffed angrily before turning cold once more. "I went there. I _saw_ it."

"And?" He asked. As a Governor, he had permanent access to the school; even if he hadn't, an injury to his son was enough of a motive to allow him access to the grounds. However, he had chosen not to go, knowing his presence would both clue people into the fact that the damage was grave enough to concern him and because he knew he would not be able to contain his anger if he saw the Greengrass girl. Both situations would only strengthen her hold on Slytherin House.

"His arm," Narcissa said before her voice broke and she began shaking. When she regained her voice, it was even colder than before, but the signs of her emotions trying to burst through her Occlumency were clear. Lucius felt fear claw into his insides. Narcissa had a better domain on the Mind Arts than him, and if she was having a hard time controlling her temper, the situation was worse than Severus had described. "He will make a full recovery with no scarring, but there were _so many cursed cuts_."

Lucius let a breath of relief out when he heard about the recovery, even though his temper surged again at the thought of his son getting hurt so severely. His wife did not interpret his relief well. "He will remain alive to used in your schemes," she snarled as her eyes gleamed maliciously.

The sight of his wife's malice bursting through her otherwise perfect posture would bring pause to the blonde man on most days. He dearly loved Narcissa and, despite the rumors, they had not married out of convenience, but from love. He knew her vicious streak ran a mile wide and was tolerant of it most of the time. Now, however, his fury was running dangerously close to his skin and he could not exercise the required caution to navigate through the situation.

"How _dare_ you?" He said coldly, already rising from his seat to fully face his wife.

"How _dare_ I?" She asked indignantly, not cowed in the slightest. "He is injured because you care more for your machinations than for your son!"

"LIES!" He bellowed, hitting his table with a heavy fist. He was trembling in anger at the accusation that he did not love his son enough. Even though he knew she was being blindly led by fury, his pride as a father would not accept the insult lying down. Instead of escalating the argument further, his anger made his wife's eyes soften and regain their hidden warmth. A beat of silence passed.

"I'm sorry, Lucius," she said apologetically, sitting down on a chair heavily, but still maintaining her unflappable elegance. "I did not mean that."

"It's fine, dear," he said softly, sitting down with practiced flourish. "I shouldn't have yelled either. I know you're just worried about Draco."

"It's just-," she said before her throat closed up and her eyes began to tear up slightly. "You did not see the arm, my love. I don't have the strength to see my dragon injured so much."

"Is it that bad?" He asked warily.

"It was a war wound, Lucius," she said despairingly, hiding her face behind her hands tiredly. "His entire right arm was covered in inch deep cuts, from his shoulder down to his wrist. The only reason he didn't bleed out was that someone cast a cauterizing spell immediately."

"Oh, Draco," Lucius sighed despondently with closed eyes. The image of injuries he had seen during the war shone through his mind's eye, and fear coalesced within his insides once again. He did not wish to expose his son to such dangerous retribution, but it seemed like there was at least one ruthless student in the school at the moment. Not knowing who it could be was maddening.

"Is there not a way to separate him from the present situation?" Narcissa asked with overflowing hope.

"No," Lucius said firmly. A gleam of defiance appeared in his wife's eye, and he interrupted her tirade with a raised hand. "Hear me out, Narcissa. You know what happened to your family. One of the most prestigious families in British history almost got wiped out because all their senior members died young deaths, leaving their junior members unprepared to lead. I am a prominent figure in our society, and we both know we have many enemies. This situation with Greengrass goes to show that I have sat on my laurels for too long. Draco is my only heir. He must be ready."

"You don't think that Cygnus is going to kill you, do you?" Narcissa asked fearfully.

"No, he is not the type," Lucius admitted. "But I would not put it behind Nott to use Greengrass's defiance to have me toppled and assume the undivided leadership of the Traditionalist Wizengamot."

"I see," Narcissa said calmly, before assuming a thinking position. Lucius waited for his wife to finish her thoughts expectantly. "What will we do about Cygnus, then?"

"Honestly, I am not sure," he admitted, looking out the window. "It is hard to predict his movements, and his motivations are similarly unclear. He seemed content to use his influence to be the intermediary in the Wizengamot, but ever since we sent the letter about the betrothal contract, the man has been on a relentless offensive."

"The timing of his actions has been odd," Narcissa remarked pensively. "Do you believe he knows something we don't?"

"I doubt it," Lucius said. "I think he is acting like a caged animal would, lashing out. I believe he is unwilling to offer his eldest's hand in marriage and is trying to garner support in the Wizengamot to bargain for a better position."

"It is a possibility. Shouldn't we contain his growing influence and present him with a worse hand with which to gamble?"

"I've been trying that," Lucius conceded with a diplomatic tilt of the head. "The problem is that he has chosen his avenues for expansion well. His position as a powerbroker has given him excellent insight into who owes which favors to whom. I had to call too many favors to salvage Crabbe, and he knows it."

"I told you that it wasn't worth it," Narcissa replied firmly.

"We've talked about this before, Narcissa," Lucius said with equal certainty. "Allowing the man to drown would signal our allies that I am unwilling to aid them. And I cannot permit an investigation into another follower for their actions without inviting similar reconsideration of my own during the war. My hold in our alliance is stronger than ever, and Crabbe owes me even more now."

"And what could he ever offer?" Narcissa asked reasonably. "If money were the solution, we would have dealt with our problems already. Crabbe has nothing of which you don't have even more."

"Favors are always worthwhile, Narcissa. It was how we built up my influence with Fudge, remember?"

"Crabbe is not Fudge, Lucius."

"He might be more intelligent."

"It's a close race," Narcissa said dryly, and Lucius felt his mouth twitch in amusement.

"Regardless, I believe a meeting with Greengrass would be fortuitous," Lucius said determinedly.

"Lucius," Narcissa said with her anger shining again behind her eyes. "Find out what his daughter knows. This act against our son cannot go unpunished."

"Don't worry," Lucius smiled coldly. "It will not be."

* * *

Harry Potter was sitting inside the Chamber of Secrets. He moved to grab a book from the shelf and grimaced in muted pain. Harry couldn't go to the Hospital Wing with an enormous gash in his arm without revealing his presence during the fight, so he had Dobby bandage it as best he could and tried the appropriate healing spells under the watchful eye of Salazar's portrait. It had healed reasonably well, although with slight scarring, and a phantom pain remained.

He had heard the rumors during the evening about the fight, and while the rumor mill was usually outlandish, it was remarkably accurate this time. The most accepted version of events is that an unknown Slytherin had fought and defeated six students trying to curse Madeleine Tessier in the corridors in duels that used actual Dark magic and that those in the know about the identity of the offending student chose not to reveal it. The only other known factor was that somehow, Daphne Greengrass was in the middle of it. Word of her taking over Slytherin using an unknown artifact was flying through the school, and the Dark members of the snake pit were notably muted during dinner.

Not all smelled of roses, however. It was clear that the older members of Daphne's group were furious with the situation, Bole, in particular, being angry to the point of almost breaking off. Tracey had told him discreetly after dinner that she was calling favors to have all the lectures' notes given to Bole and the other students above Fifth-Year associated with the incident so that they could study during the lectures themselves, as all their free time was taken by detentions indefinitely.

It was only a matter of time before Harry's involvement got revealed in exchange for lifting the detentions, and he knew it. Unless he got something with which to leverage on Snape, it would be impossible to avoid it from coming to light much sooner than expected. Tracey informed him that Daphne had already asked her father for some dirt on the Potions Master, but that she wasn't optimistic.

It was a mess of a situation.

Snape's mood had soured to the point of actual malevolence during his classes. Katie Bell said that during her lectures on the previous day, shortly following the accident, he began hounding and provoking the students, even those from Slytherin House, without mercy, going so far as to insult people for losing family members or having physical flaws. That the man was so angry that his bullying became even more overt was not surprising to Harry, but that it included the Slytherins was surprising.

And Harry had Potions today. He was not excited to go.

However, two things were worrying him even more than Snape's actions since that fight. The first one was Dumbledore's absence during dinner last night. There was no way in hell that the Headmaster wouldn't get involved when people started throwing Dark magic inside his school, and Salazar agreed. The fact that Montague had yet to receive punishment for his blatant use of Dark spells showed that the man was far more worried about the unknown spellcaster. Harry himself. The fact that Hermione was aghast with Daphne choosing not to reveal the culprit made Harry even more nervous. He did not think his friend would react well to the knowledge that Harry was learning Dark magic, but casting it against other students, even in defense of Madeleine, would not go well with the girl.

Harry made a note to interact more with Hermione. They were talking as often as ever, but she seemed frustrated with him lately.

Secondly, he was bothered about his performance in the fight. He was six against one, yes, but he had taken out three of them before they could even respond once. Most days, it would be a matter of pride for having fought three older students to a standstill, defeating two of them before exhausting himself, but he expected more. Following the World Cup, he had thought that fights inside Hogwarts would not even be a challenge anymore.

It seemed he was wrong. Montague was clearly powerful and his skills with a wand were enough that he hadn't been caught unprepared against any of Harry's tricks. Yet, surely Montague wasn't as powerful as Crabbe Sr., was he? Harry had defeated a grown wizard, but struggled against the teenager?

Of course, Harry hadn't fought Crabbe head-on, one-on-one. He had the support of two older wizards, and he had used tricks to surprise the group of Death Eaters, not sheer power. He had no delusions of being more powerful than an adult as a Fourth-Year.

Still, he had thought he could take out almost any student with relative ease. Despite the victory, he felt very disappointed in himself.

"Why didn't I win?" He asked out loud.

"It seems to me that you did," Salazar argued with a cocked eyebrow.

"Daphne rescued me," Harry grimaced. "I was about to lose. I got lucky."

"You were fighting in a disadvantage," the portrait said in a bored voice. "That is always inadvisable."

"Sometimes, you have no choice in the matter," Harry answered hotly.

"Doubtful," the portrait said, ignoring Harry's indignant scoffing. "There are always ways to level the playing field. But you know why you almost lost as well as I do. The boy said it himself to you, did he not? You overdid it."

"Perhaps. But before I cast the Lightning Curse, I was about to be overwhelmed. I couldn't let them attack Madeleine."

"You need to learn how to Occlude," the portrait clucked. "You allowed your temper to run wild and ended up casting a Lightning Curse indoors inside a corridor with many electrically conductive materials. You could have killed someone."

"My curse wasn't powerful enough to kill," Harry defended himself.

"It was not?" Salazar said dryly. "It could have fooled me. Anyhow, there was an additional point you did not consider. You did not manipulate the battle in your favor. You could have called allies. You could have used the environment around you better. You did not have a plan in place."

"How was I supposed to plan against that?" Harry asked angrily, already getting from his chair and wincing at the pain in his arm.

"It was perfectly obvious that someone was going to ambush the Muggle-born, Child," the portrait said in a disappointed voice. "Yet you did not move against them. You criticized the Professors for not acting on a rumor, but did you do differently? You only acted when their plans had already coalesced."

Harry did not know what to say about that, mainly because it was true - he had suspected that the girl was going to get attacked and had trusted in Daphne's plans to protect her. While the plans were extensive inside the Dungeons, it was glaringly apparent in retrospect that they had failed to conceive of the Dark faction being so bold as to attack another Slytherin outside the Dungeons.

"You need to take the initiative. You had an excellent opening salvo when you revealed my portrait, but you did not press your advantage. You did not even celebrate with the appropriate fanfare that someone had found me. That the press is not barging down the doors of Hogwarts Castle to take a look at me is proof enough of that."

"I can't attack them now," Harry scowled, looking at his wand. "Snape is keeping an eye out to stop any other attacks now that everyone is moving back into the Dungeons."

"Is your wand your only weapon now, Child?" Salazar drawled.

"What would you have me do?"

"I would not have you do anything," Slytherin shrugged. "You want to be your man, do you not? Then be creative."

Harry let out a frustrated breath and lit up a meditation candle. He had yet to achieve any meaningful progress on meditating, and Salazar's vague instructions on how to begin Occlumency were weighing heavily on his mind. His thoughts were always turbulent, and even when he managed to fixate on nothing at all, his emotions were still running rampant enough to break his concentration.

He scowled when frustration broke through his thoughts. He sighed tiredly and tried again to focus on nothing. The issue with focusing on nothing is that actively attempting to not think about anything was like trying to stop thinking about a pink elephant by continuously yelling to not think about a pink elephant.

Maybe he ought to just allow thoughts to pass through unimpeded instead of trying to stop them altogether? But how could he think about the things plaguing his mind lately - his growing affectation with powerful magic, his desire to be free from the Headmaster, his desperation of having to live with the Dursleys, the anxiety of not ever freeing Sirius, the fear of seeing Hermione's disgusted expression sent his way if she ever found out who had broken Pucey's leg - pass by without interacting with them?

He let out another frustrated breath before almost glaring at the candle. The thing might give him weird dreams, but it did not give him good enough solutions. Just thinking about the red woman from that dream gave him a headache.

"The damned things don't work," he glowered.

"Meditation incense is not enough to make you meditate, or else no one would need to meditate," Salazar pointed out calmly.

"Then why call it _meditation incense_?" Harry asked scathingly.

"It does help you relax, which is the first step of any meditation technique," Salazar reasoned. "Objects can be _cursed_ , but they cannot be _blessed_. It is one of the oddities of magical retention in objects. You can charm something to your heart's content, but charms are inherently neutral. There is nothing like a good luck charm, even if you baste the object in Felix Felicis. But you can curse it in increasingly deadlier ways. Magic cast with ill-intent always gets retained by objects for far longer. There is even an Arithmantic argument about how there is no Dark magic, simply magic with ill-intent, based on the fact that an object charmed to violently levitate anyone who touches it a hundred meters and then release them suddenly will retain that malevolent magic far longer than an object charmed to levitate them the same hundred yards gently.

"Meditation incense is made from the dried leaves of magical plants and wax from bees, with the consideration that the mixture will retain magic for longer than any normal material. Then it is doused with Calming Draughts, put into an environment where wizards continuously cast Cheering Charms or, in the case of particularly luxurious brands, Patronuses. That is why they are so expensive - they are made to order and delivered expressly to ensure that the relaxing magic is still active when the incense arrives. However, they cannot charm it to force you to meditate properly. The onus is on the user."

Harry's mind had clung to something that Salazar had mentioned and wasn't letting go. He smiled viciously and turned to the portrait, who was looking at him expectantly. "Salazar, can you call Daphne down here, please? I'll have Serena let her into the Chamber."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass was despondently reading a letter from her father for the tenth time, and each time she finished it, she could feel even more despondent. There was a cold fury against Malfoy and his cronies for having caused this incident, but most of her head was drowning in intense disappointment with herself, and every time she finished the letter, a larger portion of her mind was consumed by it.

_Daughter,_

_I had wished that my first letter to you in this Hogwarts year was filled with much more levity, but it is not to be. First, allow me to congratulate you on both finding Slytherin's portrait and on using it cleverly to greatly enhance your position in the House. Those actions clearly show the level of promise you have always shown, and I would be more than happy with your performance had it stopped there._

_Since then, you have not acted wisely. Firstly, you should have known that revealing the portrait would inevitably cause droves of letters from Slytherin students to their parents. By not setting up the dominoes outside Hogwarts at all, you have wasted an opportunity to enhance our position in society. You and Heir Potter have wished to begin influencing the Grey faction in the Wizengamot, but you have forgotten that Hogwarts is not a closed environment and that things there impact the world outside._

_Furthermore, by not predicting that the portrait would invite letters for your fellow students' Heads of House, you failed to account for the fact you were not playing against the ideas of teenagers, but with adults using their children as means to their ideals._

_That brings us to the fight against Heir Malfoy. By your own admission, you did not consider the fact that they would attack Tessier outside the Dungeons, and that was a glaring misrepresentation of the Dark factions' priorities. The Dark's hatred of Muggle-born is well documented and expected on the Slytherin Dungeons. They would not need to attack the girl there to send a message. They would much prefer to attack her outside the Dungeons in plain view of other Muggle-borns to severely discourage them to integrate with Slytherin House. You planned exceedingly well for an improbable scenario and failed to account for the most likely situation because you did not seek someone else's counsel but your own._

_Remember, Daphne. I have told you this before. You are tremendously talented in ways that teenagers are often not. But you are still a teenager. Failing to be humble has cost you a lot of capital inside Slytherin with your faction. For all the good that standing there in the scene to be caught by Severus Snape has brought in terms of showing the unaffiliated and the Dark that you have the power to stop attacks, it has cost you much more in that you have burdened allies you had only recently acquired. If you had left as soon as you had cleared your steps, rumors about your involvement would already be abundant enough to get you what you got without costing what it cost you._

_I do not have any information on Snape that you can use. The man is protected fiercely by the two most powerful men in the country and keeps his secrets close to his chest. If being a poor Death Eater didn't throw the man in jail and being an abusive teacher doesn't make him unemployed, nothing will. Even if I had any dirt on the man, I would not share it with you. Your situation is not so dire that I need to intervene, and you need to get out of bad scenarios on your own. You've made your bed, Daphne. Now you must lie on it._

_If things deteriorate, I will always be available. As well as the diaries connected between you and Heir Potter, I will be sending you one connected with me. Take it everywhere you go. Whenever you make a big political move, consult me first, unless it is impossible. Until you have grown into your potential enough to avoid making these miscalculations, I ask you to rely on me to validate your ideas._

_With love, your father,_

_Lord Cygnus Greengrass_.

The first time she read the letter, she had begun feeling indignation at her father's words, but they had lasted until the end of the third paragraph. Because it was true. She didn't even consider the fact that Malfoy would likely consult Lucius about what to do, and this was coming from the boy whose catchphrase was ' _wait until my father hears about this_.' She shouldn't have rushed the reveal of the portrait. Despite her desire to protect Madeleine, the House only figured out the girl's background a week after the reveal.

Daphne let out a deep breath and assumed a calm expression when someone entered the dorm. Tracey peeked into it and walked to her bed.

"Salazar is calling you, Daphne," she said with a slight smile. Daphne was enormously thankful for the fact that both Blaise and Tracey had not taken Snape's punishments with overt resentment, unlike Bole, whose patience was already running thin.

"Really?" Daphne blinked in surprise.

"You didn't plan for this?" Tracey asked back in the same surprised tone. "I thought you did this to gain some respect after that fight. The House was properly shocked he called for you specifically."

"No, I did not. It must be Harry," she frowned, but got up, carefully picking the letter and storing it.

When she walked to the Common Room, she could feel the silent tension in the room. Salazar greeted her with a nod that she replicated. When they were close enough to talk, a bunch of students leaned forward to listen in.

Daphne rolled her eyes and cast a strong _Muffliato_ , making the students grumble in annoyance and restart whatever they were doing before.

"Miss Greengrass, your presence in the Chamber is being required," the portrait said in place of a verbal greeting.

"What does Harry want?" Daphne asked with a confused frown.

"I do not know. Go there now as fast as you can. I do not appreciate being used as a post owl," the portrait grumbled in slight frustration. "Serena will let you in."

Before Daphne could ask another question, Salazar had already gone back to the Chamber. Putting on her focused face, she left the Common Room with a backward glance, walking straight to the second floor, only paying attention to see if someone was following her. After being confident that was not the case, she entered Myrtle's bathroom, where Serena was already patiently waiting for her near the required sink.

"Hello, Serena," she greeted the boomslang with a smile and some light pets that got her a content hiss. The snake turned to the sink and hissed something, and it once more moved to make way for a long slide.

When Daphne reached Salazar's office, a few minutes later, Harry was fiercely looking at some meditation incense.

"Potter, what do you need?" She asked, not feeling the necessity to pretend at being determined now that she had left the Common Room.

"What's wrong?" He asked concernedly.

"I received a discouraging letter from home," she admitted, taking out the letter and throwing it on the desk between them.

"Is everything alright with Astoria?" He questioned before even picking up the letter.

"Yeah, she's fine. My father just pointed out to me rather openly how much I screwed up since we revealed the portrait."

Harry read the letter wordlessly and then sighed defeatedly. "I can't even argue with the man. We were too desperate to help Madeleine to think straight."

"It is what it is, Harry. We learn and move on."

"Good," Harry nodded. "I'm not happy with the results, but given what they were about to do with Madeleine, I don't feel much remorse. I wish I was far more brutal."

Daphne didn't say anything but nodded. The Slytherin Dungeons were not rife with violence as people suspected, but there were enough horror stories about girls getting caught alone in the past decades for everyone to be wary. Truthfully, outright penetrative rape was unlikely because it was one of the few things that the wards specifically prevented, but there was a world of horrible possibility this side of that barrier that no one should ever experience. She didn't think that anyone would sexually harass an eleven-year-old, but who knows, with people like Montague. Even not considering that truly horrifying scenario, physical violence could forever lock the girl's enormous potential and stop any other Muggle-borns from ever being sorted into Slytherin again.

Just the sight of the girl sobbing and babbling in French whilst fiercely hugging Harry's neck, a huge red mark of an angry hand in her face was enough to make her anger surge again.

"I called you here to ask you if you can brew a Dreamless Sleep Potion," Harry said after getting up and gesturing for her to follow.

"I can," she said as they arrived at a small leather bag. Harry opened it to reveal a big pile of meditation incense. "It is a difficult potion to brew, but it is quick enough to be brewed in two hours or so. More than enough time before our Potions lesson."

"Good. Write down the ingredients for a large batch of the potion on parchment, and I'll have Dobby buy them in Diagon Alley."

"If you need Dreamless Sleep Potion, why not just buy it?"

"Too expensive. Plus, we're going to be using it too much to keep buying it constantly."

"And why, pray tell, will we be using it too much?" She said, her quill still yet to write down a single word.

"Because we are going on an offensive against Montague and Malfoy, and we don't want your allies to get caught in the crossfire again," Harry said nonchalantly.

"Harry, Snape is already guarding against any move fiercely. If we move against them, we are getting caught," she said, putting her quill down. "I don't see how this is getting accomplished with Dreamless Sleep Potions anyway."

"No, if _you_ move against them, you are getting caught," Harry smirked. "I have an Invisibility Cloak. We are not going to curse them into oblivion because that would only increase the heat on you. But, Salazar reminded me that we can attack them without using our wands."

"Go on," she said impatiently.

"Did you know that meditation incense is magically absorbent and that it induces dreams on the user?"

"Yes," she said. "My family provides the raw material for some of them. What of it?"

Harry smiled viciously. A few minutes later, Daphne was writing down the ingredients of the potion with ferocity after recovering from laughing. Harry truly was becoming ruthless.

* * *

The Fourth-Year Gryffindors and Slytherins entered into the Potions Classroom with visible nervousness. By now, rumors of what had transpired over the previous day in Snape's lectures were surely already circulating. Dumbledore himself had asked the Professor if such behavior was necessary, but the Headmaster had relented once he revealed he was attempting to purposefully anger the unknown student to force the ozone magical discharge.

In reality, Snape doubted that the student involved could be a Fourth-Year. The level of magic involved in the fight had been far beyond what anyone in this room could command. Yet, he would not relinquish this opportunity to bother the Gryffindors. He thought it was a waste of time to even try to rile up the Slytherin Fourth-Years, given the fact that the entire batch of Greengrass's supporters from that year had been present in the fight after it finished and couldn't be the unknown benefactor.

Therefore, he focused on the Gryffindors. It was not a difficult decision to make.

Potter and Longbottom were sitting together, leaving Granger to work with Weasley. Finnegan and Thomas sat at the back as always, leaving the stupid Patil twin to gossip with Brown. Dunbar was listlessly sitting down with Kellah Morris on the corner.

"Weasley!" He barked, making the class startle. "Change places with Potter."

"Why?" He whined with a frown, no doubt mourning for his lost grade if he couldn't sit down with Granger.

"If you must know, I commissioned new cauldrons," Snape drawled. "I'm wondering if, between Longbottom and you, you have enough stupidity to melt them down before the class ends."

The redhead glowered and cursed beneath his breath, but got up. Potter very calmly changed places, greeting Granger with a smile that she returned with a light blush.

' _So, Granger likes the brat, does she? We can't have that, can we?'_

"Granger!" He barked, making the girl cut away from her dazed smile and look at him in fright. "Stop daydreaming about Potter and focus," he stopped when the girl blushed, and the Slytherins began to snigger. "In fact, don't focus. _Leave_."

"W-what do you mean?" She asked in visible discomfort and confusion.

"Since the know-it-all is atop the year and is so confident in her intelligence that she doesn't even feel the need to focus, she clearly doesn't need the lecture today. So _leave,_ " he said, pointing at the door. He knew that depriving the girl of knowledge would be the ultimate punishment anyway, and it would stop him from having to deal with her excessive hand-waving to answer questions.

The girl began to tear up slightly and said in a weak voice. "But, Professor, the potion today..."

"Shut up, you anthropomorphic beaver, and _leave_!"

The girl began crying in earnest and left in a hurry without taking her bag with her. Potter very carefully put all of Granger's things inside it and put it down gently on the now vacant chair. He was about to lay into the brat when a voice sounded to his left.

"Abusive arse," Finnegan complained.

"Ah, Finnegan," Snape drawled. "How come you haven't blown yourself up already? A tragic loss to us all."

"At least I'm not a greasy dungeon bat," the Irish boy snarled in defiance. Thomas was trying to keep his partner quiet and was failing.

"Don't even bother trying, Thomas," Snape said smoothly. "We both know you don't belong here."

When the boy's eyes widened, it was clear that he had gotten the nature of the insult. Snape knew he had laid it a fair bit too thick right then, but Potter's stoicism was bothering him mightly, and his reasoning was starting to get clouded by visions of James Potter stopping Sirius Black from taking him to the werewolf with that same stony expression.

"Speaking of not belonging here, Dunbar and Morris, the girls so irrelevant that no one remembers who they are," he snarled, looking at the last table of Gryffindors. At this point, everyone in Slytherin except for Greengrass and her friends was laughing. Zabini, who would understand the insult he had given to Thomas, was flushed and shaking in anger, and Davis looked horrified. The girl was the information outlet for a lot of the school, and this berating would not get unremarked. But he had Dumbledore's permission. Their disapproval meant nothing. "Say, Dunbar, do you still hold delusions about being an Auror, with your Potions scores? And you Morris, don't you favor taking a sip of the Draught of Living Death? It would make you far more _vivacious_. Maybe someone would remember you, then."

Both girls were visibly tearing up, with Morris in particular already biting down her lip to stop it from wobbling. Dunbar had an angry expression on her face, but her eyes couldn't stop communicating her hurt feelings.

When Snape turned, he noted with pleasure that Weasley was _furious_ , actually growling at him. Longbottom was not far behind, with a perfectly straight posture and wide eyes full of fire and hatred. Ever since the boy changed wands, his confidence had grown too much for Snape's taste.

"Will you be quiet, you speckled dog?" He yelled at the growling Weasley, who was visibly trembling in rage. Longbottom tried to calm the boy down, putting a hand on the boy's arm without looking away from the Professor. "Why are so catatonic, Longbottom? Are you taking on the family legacy?"

The boy yelled with rage and tried to jump above the table to hit Snape down and had to be held back by Weasley, who suddenly looked too shocked at the outburst to be angry at Snape anymore. The Professor noted with enormous surprise that he could smell the very faint smell of petrichor bursting through his senses.

While Malfoy was red-faced with laughter alongside his cronies, Snape was staring down the boy in shock. ' _ **Longbottom**_ _has enough power to have even this weak magical discharge? Yet, it is not the ozone I am waiting for.'_

When Weasley couldn't hold on to the boy anymore, and Longbottom managed to free himself and climbed the table to try and attack the Professor, Snape shot a quick _Stupefy_ and let the boy fall on the floor, uncaring about the heavy _thud_ when he fell down mid-jump.

Without even looking at the fallen body, he turned to his last remaining target but had to forcefully raise his Occlumency shields to hold in a gasp. Potter was angry; there was no doubt about that. But Snape expected him to be the same as Weasley, almost catatonic with rage, trembling and red-faced and wanting to curse him into a paste. If he got lucky, he would have an actual excuse to live out his dreams of banishing the boy into the wall. But his anger was so cold. His posture was as relaxed as if nothing had happened. He wasn't moving erratically to dispense with nervous energy as the other Gryffindors were. But it was his eyes that gave away the extent of his wrath.

They were vicious. Not full of indignant rage, like Dunbar's, or even aggressive fury like Weasley's or Finnegan's. They were filled with a promise of retribution, laid down viciously and without repentance. They were gleaming with cruel determination, uncaring about consequence, cost, or method. They wanted to impart revenge on the infractor, and nothing else mattered. Snape had seen those eyes often in the Dark Lord and many of his followers, but he had only seen them in two people on the side of the Light.

Sirius Black and Lily Evans.

Black's eyes had shone his way in that same ruthless and uncaring way through their entire tenure together in Hogwarts, but never more so than on that day when he had tried to have him killed by Lupin. And Lily's warm green eyes had looked at him like that the instant he had called her a mudblood, and every time they had crossed paths when he had begged for forgiveness since.

Snape turned his back on Potter. The boy was always a clone of his arrogant, good-for-nothing father. But those eyes were truly Lily's, even in the worst of ways. He couldn't bear to look at them anymore.

"Potter," he barked. "Take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. Don't bother coming back."

He only turned his back to face the class again once the door was closed.

He would never see that Potter did not use magic to take Longbottom out of the class.

* * *

Later that day, Draco had been preparing to go to sleep. He looked at his dormmates. Zabini was out like a light, not even snoring lightly as he usually did. He snorted. The boy must have been exhausted from the Potions lecture where he had gotten so enraged at Snape saying Thomas did not belong.

Why would Zabini get angry on behalf of the Muggle-born? Greengrass had corrupted the boy far too much. Draco was going to have his work cut out for him when he shaped Greengrass into the ideal Pureblood wife, just like his mother.

Regardless, the boy was inconsequential. Draco himself had been feeling energetic just before entering the room, but as soon as he did, he felt tiredness creeping from the edges of his mind inward. Maybe he hadn't noticed how long the day was.

Yawning the entire way, Draco languidly went through his nighttime routine. By the time he had put on his pajamas and had his head on the pillow, he was already fully asleep.

When he woke up, he was above a cupboard in a nest of hay and dry trash in a small and dark room. He immediately looked around, confused, and tried to get his wand to light up the dark room, but couldn't find it. He didn't know where he was, but he knew he wanted to leave. He stepped out and fell down a long way until he reached the floor, almost twisting his ankle in the process. He hissed in pain, but got up nervously, still looking around for his wand.

He patted himself down to see if it was in his pockets and was shocked and disgusted to find he was wearing a single torn and dirty rag. He was not even wearing underwear or socks. He looked around the cupboard, barely concealing his disgust, but there were only dresses and children's clothes inside, nothing that he would have worn or that would fit anyway.

Scowling, but feeling truly freaked out by now, he opened the door to the room and felt a wave of comfort wash over him. He was in Malfoy Manor.

Sighing in relief, he knew all he had to do was walk to his room and get some clothes, and everything would be alright. When he arrived, he frowned when he noticed his dark green door was painted a light red but didn't pay any attention to the fact.

As soon as he entered the room, he noticed that none of its decorations were his. There were tons of books and lots of dolls and snow globes. There were moving pictures on the wall. Wait, was that _Granger_?

Suddenly the door burst open behind him, making him yell in fright. A very tall and large featureless man was standing in front of him, towering over him completely. His face was blank, not emotionless but _completely_ blank, as in with no nose, mouth, or any features except for smooth skin and malevolent glinting red eyes.

"What are you doing here, little boy?" The man snarled in a rough voice that horrified him. It sounded like someone had ripped out the man's vocal cords and changed it with chains. "You know you can't enter your Mistress's room."

When Malfoy couldn't do anything but gape at the towering man, he growled and grabbed him by the neck. As they went across the Manor, Malfoy started kicking at the man to try to get him to release him, but as the breaths began getting harder and more painful to maintain, his strength started to fade. Black spots invaded his vision, and he began panicking. When he was thrown into the ground roughly, he began coughing and gasping for air so much his lungs began to hurt.

He was in the Master Room, but there was no one there. None of the décor his father had put into the room or his mother's many trinkets were present and the room looked completely uninhabited. There was an adjacent door that wasn't in the Manor before, and it was in that direction that the man was dragging him to. He opened the door with a rough kick and threw Draco inside.

In there was his mother, naked and looking extremely ill. She was chained to the wall and looked completely possessed, folded in half backward at an impossible angle. She was staring at him and smiling sweetly.

"Draco, why did you enter the room? You know you can't enter the room."

Then his mother started walking towards him much like a spider, her head hanging toward the floor as she used her arms and legs to crawl towards him.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something wrong?"

Draco was goggling at his mother, looking at how her spine bent backward at an angle that would kill a normal human and her innocent smile that grew more and more concerned.

"What's wrong, little dragon? What have you done?"

Slowly her voice was replaced by the same voice as the man behind him, steadily rising in intensity and volume.

"What have you done?"

"What have you done?"

"What have you done?"

"What have you done?"

" **What have you done?** "

Draco fainted.

* * *

The following morning, a good portion of the Slytherin House arrived at the breakfast so visibly shaken that the entire Great Hall stared in silence.

"What do you think happened?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Nightmares, maybe?"


	5. Consequences

**C** **hapter Five - Consequences**

* * *

Straight after breakfast, the Professors met under a request from Headmaster Dumbledore. Snape arrived first, having chosen not to attend breakfast, and was customarily sitting in a dark corner of the room waiting for all the other staff members to arrive.

Minerva McGonagall burst through the door with a red face and her wand firmly in hand, which she pointed straight at Snape. Flitwick and Sprout arrived wearing similarly grim expressions, also brandishing their wands although they were both pointing at the floor. The rest of the Professors lagged, all of them looking somewhere between furious or determined.

"You went _too far_!" The Gryffindor Head of House spoke in her infuriated brogue accent. "Your normal behavior is reprehensible, but this was _too far,_ Severus Snape."

"Lower your wand," the Potions Master warned, despite knowing he had no chance of outdrawing the three Heads of House working together.

"I will do no such thing," McGonagall protested. "You shouldn't be here. Paraphrasing your own words to Miss Granger, shut up, you anthropomorphic bat, and _leave_!"

"I did it to get the person that tried to kill my godson!" Snape barked enraged. "I had permission!"

"Don't hide your actions behind reason," McGonagall snarled, the tip of her wand crackling out red sparks ominously. "You did this because you enjoy bullying children, you pathetic excuse for a teacher!"

"Your permission was to investigate the students to find the culprit to an attack, not to insult them to the point of making children cry," Sprout said seriously, her typical effusive and warm demeanor long gone. "Don't think I haven't noticed you haven't given out any punishment to the six students that tried to attack Madeleine Tessier in the first place."

"Pomona and I already instructed our students to miss your lectures," Flitwick said calmly, although he was already assuming what Snape could tell was a dueling stance. "I will not have my students ridiculed by you for no good reason."

"For no good reason?" Snape sneered. "I was trying to catch the criminal who almost killed three of my students."

"By Merlin, Severus, is bullying the only way you know how to do things?" Vector asked from her chair, scowling in his direction.

"Don't speak of something you don't understand," he barked. "This unknown student was casting Dark Magic with clearly destructive intent and cannot be allowed to continue attending this school at all costs."

" _Now_ you're against Dark Magic, are you, Snape?" Moody growled. "I have a very different memory of the war."

"He is only against Dark Magic when it's used against his Slytherins," Vector scoffed. "And only against those he likes. Morgana knows what those boys were about to do with that little girl."

" _They tried to kill my godson!_ "

"If they had tried to kill him, he would be dead," Vector deadpanned, instantly bringing the temperature in the room down. The Professors tensed as one, expecting Snape to respond violently, but the man simply snarled more viciously and grasped his wand more forcefully. "Someone applied a cauterizing spell to his arm to stop him from bleeding out in that corridor before you arrived. If they wanted the boy to die, he would be dead and you would be none the wiser. That is the reason you are so angry and we both know it. You are losing control of your own House and you don't know who's responsible for it beyond Miss Greengrass."

"How _dare_ you!" Snape bellowed, finally making to draw his wand in another person's direction. Before even McGonagall could do anything, a massive burst of heat appeared out of nowhere in the room, freezing everyone in place. After a few seconds of increasing temperature, during which all the Professors began sweating, Dumbledore appeared from a corner, having disillusioned himself until then.

"I believe," he said jovially even though his eyes gave away his mounting displeasure. "That the reason for this meeting is already being discussed."

"There is nothing to discuss," McGonagall glared after she recovered from the outburst of magic. "This man no longer deserves to be a teacher."

"I struggle to remember when he _was_ deserving," Sprout said evenly, looking at Snape as if he were a bit of dirt stuck to her shoe.

"He's Death Eater scum," Moody said matter-of-factly from his standing position, not even bothering to paint his tone with disapproval. It was somehow even more frightening.

"Regardless, he is still a Professor in this institution and will continue to be accorded the same courtesy as ever," Dumbledore insisted.

"I will treat him with the same courtesy he offers his students," Vector said uncaringly.

"Please, Septima, do not escalate the issue further than you already have," Dumbledore said in a disappointed voice, finally sitting down and motioning for everyone else to do so. Slowly, they followed his lead, except for the other three Heads of House, who stood united near the door.

"Septima has not escalated the issue," Flitwick insisted. McGonagall and Sprout nodded in agreement.

"I have been in the room since the beginning," Dumbledore said with a slight smile as if the fact his Heads of Houses were disagreeing with him was amusing. "Simply because I cannot be seen, does not mean I cannot listen."

"If you applied that same attitude to the complaints about Snape, the man would have been gone years ago," Babbling intervened.

"That is a quite rude assessment of my skills as Headmaster," Dumbledore replied with a slight frown.

"It is an accurate representation of my opinion. I agree with Pomona in thinking this man needed to leave years ago," the Ancient Runes Professor shrugged. "I frankly do not know why you keep him on staff."

"Severus has my full confidence," Dumbledore said softly. When the rest of the Professors scowled at his non-answer, he sighed mutely and continued in as non-confrontational a tone as he could. "I already know what you think on this matter, so allow me to speak with Severus. I will take into consideration what you have spoken so far."

While the rest of the Professors filed away with dejected expressions, believing nothing would come of it, once again the three Heads of House stood firmly near the door.

"My students will not attend a class with that man, Albus," McGonagall said firmly.

"Neither will mine," Pomona continued.

"Nor mine," Flitwick concluded.

"What would you have me do?" Albus sighed. "There is not an abundance of Potions Masters in the country from which to choose."

"That is not coincidental with the fact that Severus is the Potions Professor here," Flitwick interjected wryly.

"I do not care what you do, Albus. That man is not teaching my Lions until he learns how to be a civilized human being."

"You would risk your students' NEWTs and OWLs?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"The man does not teach anyway," McGonagall said in a clipped voice. "What could be the difference?"

"I will find a way to accommodate all parties," Albus nodded softly.

The Heads of House glared at Snape for a bit before leaving the room. Dumbledore sighed tiredly before turning to his Potions Master.

"You know, Severus," he said after he spent a long minute analyzing the man in front of him over his glasses. "They are quite correct."

" _I had your permission!_ " Snape yelped indignantly.

"You had my permission to anger the students for us to identify the culprit responsible for attacking the six Slytherins, yes," Dumbledore conceded. "I did not permit you to belittle, ridicule, and insult students without rhyme or reason. Your comments to Mr. Longbottom were already extremely out of place. That is nothing to say about what you implied about Mr. Thomas. Neither of them could be classified as reasonable suspects."

"This situation requires exceptional measures," Snape said obstinately.

"My permission to purposefully attempt to anger students is _already_ an exceptional measure, Severus," the Headmaster said, before interrupting whatever the Potions Master was about to say with a raised hand. "You do not have to impart upon me the importance of finding out who the student with such proficiency in Dark magic and such ruthlessness in his methods is. Do not forget to whom you speak."

When Snape did not respond beyond a wordless growl, Dumbledore sighed tiredly again and delicately took off his glasses and put them on the table in front of him.

"I was already concerned after receiving reports of what had transpired over the previous day on the Fifth-Year lectures, but your behavior towards the Fourth-Year Gryffindors went from unwise to downright appalling," Dumbledore said firmly. "Allow me to guess what happened, hm? You were planning to bait the students into anger, but you lost control when you saw Harry."

"There's something wrong with that boy, Albus," Snape warned seriously.

"Not this again, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I am telling you, Dumbledore, you did not see the anger in the boy's eyes."

"What were you expecting?" Dumbledore said dryly. "Love and admiration?"

"Albus, I-"

"No," Dumbledore intoned clearly. "Enough of this. I have already told you I am watching Harry closely and have not seen evidence of this. The boy is acting differently, but that is not unreasonable given what happened last year. I have received information that he has even traveled abroad with his family, which is very encouraging for future years."

"You were of a different mind during the summer," Snape warned him.

"I was, and I was delighted to note that I was wrong," Albus smiled softly. "The boy is forming genuine emotional connections to the people around him. I would not expect that to be the case if he was under Tom's influence."

"There is more than one source of evil in this world, Dumbledore."

"Alas, I shall guard Mr. Potter against them all, _including himself_ , if need be," the Headmaster said clearly. "I will still keep an eye on the boy, but have faith. He is not his father, despite your opinion."

"He got the worst parts from the dog as well," Snape sneered, keeping the memory of Lily's green eyes shining with cold anger to himself.

"Enough," Dumbledore announced firmly, before putting his glasses on again. "You were fortunate that I was able to make contact with Lucius before this incident reached the Daily Prophet or the DMLE. He has already spoken with Cuffe and convinced him not to publish this. Unfortunately, Amelia has been made aware of this through her niece and therefore is rightly indignant about your continued employment."

"Are you firing me?" Snape asked, shock slamming against his emotional control.

"Despite my better judgment, no," Albus said. "You will be necessary for the years to come, as we both know. However, to remain here in the years to come, your behavior must change. In any case, your continued permanence in the castle, in the short term, would be inadvisable."

"What do you-"

"You will know shortly," Dumbledore interrupted. "Think of this as a sabbatical. Please retrieve your essentials from your office and come back here at once. I will then explain the details further."

Snape stood shocked before snarling and leaving the room with a violent billow of his cloak. Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed. On days like these, he wondered if his spy could ever shake off his hatred.

* * *

When Snape arrived at the Dungeons, he was instantly greeted by extreme darkness from the Common Room. Frowning, he went to cast a _Lumos_ to guide his path when something snapped against his hand and threw his wand from his grasp. Quite alarmed, he twisted in the opposite direction and began searching for it when something wrapped around his left arm and fixed in place.

Shortly after that, several different objects appeared out of nowhere and coiled themselves around his limbs, making any movement impossible. Using force would only make the constraints against him tighter, so he kept in place, even as he was being forced to genuflect against his will.

Before he could stop himself, he asked the question that he had been repeating since the term began. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Severus Snape," a deep voice intoned gravely. The lights lit up as one, and he looked away for a second as his eyes recovered from the sudden burst of brightness. When he looked up, he saw a crowd of disapproving stares from Greengrass and her group, and in the dead center, the portrait of Salazar Slytherin glared at him with dead eyes. "You are no Slytherin."

"I am Head of this House!" Snape bellowed.

"SILENCE!" The man seethed, large stone snakes surrounding Snape and hissing threateningly. A live green cobra led the group and began climbing the Professor's leg slowly. "A Slytherin does not behave as you did. An adult does not act as you did. You are a stain and a shame in this institution's history."

"I do not take orders from you," the Potions Master growled.

"Orders?" The portrait asked bemusedly. "Who said anything about orders? This is not about following orders. Your job is to teach and guide students. That is not what you do."

"Do not speak what you don't understand," Snape snapped.

"Do you forget who I am?" Slytherin sneered. "I have forgotten more about magic than you will ever know. I have more teaching capacity as a portrait than you do as a man. What I _understand_ is that you are a depressingly accurate example of the downfall of my legacy, and I will not have you tarnishing it any longer."

"As you are so glad of reminding us all, you are merely a portrait. You can do nothing to me in the end," the Professor taunted.

"Merely a portrait?" Salazar chuckled mirthlessly before hissing orders. As one, the stone snakes advanced on him, bursting against his muscles painfully. The cobra curled around his torso and was poised to bite into his jugular. "I am no _mere_ portrait."

Before Snape could answer, the Headmaster arrived and assessed the situation. Smiling softly, he dispelled the stone conjurations with two silent flicks of his wand and admired the living cobra that was yet to release his Potions Master.

"Forgive me my bemusement," he chuckled, caressing his beard gently. "I am not in the habit of being summoned by portraits."

"Headmaster," Salazar greeted coldly with a nod.

"Salazar," Dumbledore replied with a warm smile. "Now, would you tell me why you were attacking my Head of Slytherin House?"

"That man is unfit to lead a flobberworm feeding, let alone Slytherin House," Slytherin deadpanned.

"Alas, we both know it has become a tradition for the Potions Professor to be Head of Slytherin," Dumbledore reasoned evenly. "After all, their offices are in the Dungeons."

"That is a weak argument in defense of an equally weak Professor, Albus Dumbledore," Salazar responded.

"Evidently, that is not the only reason why I trust Severus to be the Head of this House."

After a beat of silence, Salazar cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

"Founder or not, I do not believe I have to explain my choices as Headmaster to you," Dumbledore said with a hint of steel coating his otherwise pleasant voice.

"Truthfully, I cannot demand it," Salazar conceded with a nod. "That is not to say I will not make this man's life in the Dungeons physically viable if need be."

"I can still have this portrait removed or destroyed," the Headmaster smiled tightly.

"We both know you already gave that order to the elves, and they were unable to do so. And you will never destroy such a vital piece of Hogwarts history yourself without incurring infamy you cannot afford."

"True, but I also cannot afford to be... what is the word, hijacked? I cannot afford to be hijacked by a portrait in my own castle."

"We are at an impasse, it seems," Salazar drawled.

"I am afraid we are not," Dumbledore smiled genially. "If necessary, I will close the entrance to the Dungeons, escort every student to a different part of the castle, and your presence here will be irrelevant beyond a historical footnote."

"That requires the willingness of the students," Slytherin countered easily before slowly carrying his eyes through the crowd surrounding him. "I do not believe you have that."

"Speaking of which, would you happen to know what has happened to the rest of Slytherin House?" Dumbledore asked, having already noticed the absence of many of the most prominent Dark family's scions.

"Ah, they were indisposed," Salazar smiled coldly.

"All of them?" Dumbledore asked suspiciously.

"A rather terrible ordeal, wouldn't you say?"

"And you are not involved in this terrible ordeal?"

"Of course not," Slytherin denied categorically. After all, it had been Harry and Daphne who had used the magical incense to great effect the previous night. Slowly, Dumbledore nodded, sensing the truth of the statement.

"In any case, this whole confrontation is to no avail," the Headmaster said, glancing at the students present. "Your Head of House is going on medical leave for a while. He merely passed by to gather his belongings."

As the students relaxed and seemed to smile at the news, the group around Greengrass and the portrait itself did not relent.

"And when he returns from this medical leave?" The Founder questioned.

"He will remain House of Slytherin House," Dumbledore said firmly. When some students made to protest, the Headmaster drew himself to his full height and stared straight at the portrait. "While you are, as you have described yourself, no _mere_ portrait, you remain one. I urge you not to make me destroy such a clear example of magical creativity."

Tense moments followed before Salazar hissed an order and the green cobra retreated, finally allowing Snape to grab his wand again and snarl viciously at the students present. Before he could leave, Greengrass interjected.

"As students of Slytherin House, we agree with our Founder's words, Headmaster," the blonde girl began firmly. "Severus Snape is not fit to lead this group. He represents the worst this House has to offer and perpetuates the wrongful judgment that has fallen on our heads as a consequence of his actions and inactions. Yesterday was a dark day in the history of Hogwarts, but it was even darker for Slytherin House. The damage done will take years to reverse if he retains his employment."

"I appreciate your concern, but this is none of your business, Miss Greengrass," Dumbledore said in a voice that brokered no discussion, although he kept his smile. Greengrass nodded sharply but held her disapproving glare.

Snape received a nod from his boss and went to collect his things. He briefly wondered if he had truly gone too far this time, if students were already questioning Dumbledore about it.

* * *

A few minutes later, Dumbledore sat on his chair in the Great Hall and waited for the last group of students to arrive. He had asked for every Professor to escort their classes to the Great Hall for a general announcement before the lectures resumed, guessing that it would not do for rumors to fester even more. When McGonagall nodded in his direction, he tilted his head forwards and rose, relishing the silence he got as a result.

"Yesterday, something unacceptable happened within these walls," he began clearly, taking care to look in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "I am sure that you are all aware of what transpired in the Potions lecture for the Fourth-Year Gryffindors and Slytherins. I will not repeat what was said for two reasons. Firstly, I do not believe that such things ought to be said out loud even within the context of a warning, and secondly, I am sure that the rumor mill of Hogwarts has already sounded in your heads _ad nauseam_.

"Every term has its challenges for this school. Precisely in the year when we will receive foreign representatives from other educational strongholds from the Continent, we are faced with a two-pronged challenge on the stability of Hogwarts. Firstly, although the incident has been somewhat dimmed by yesterday's events, allow me to be clear. The aggressive use of magic with clear and undisguised ill-intent on the seventh floor went beyond unacceptable behavior. We will find the culprits involved and punish them to the full extent of our capabilities. There is no place in Hogwarts for the use of such extensively Dark spells. Secondly, I would like to formally apologize on behalf of this school to all the parties affected by Professor Snape's behavior. I cannot stress enough how much his words do not represent the spirit of this school. Before I continue, Filius, would you please verify the validity of this document?"

Dumbledore levitated a thin folder to just in front of the half-goblin, who smoothly took out his wand and cast several spells consecutively before nodding sharply. "This document is not a forgery," he said firmly.

"I have here a signed and sworn statement from a Healer from a new wing of St. Mungo's opened by the generosity of our private citizens," a glance at Draco would make it clear to those observant to whom such generosity was owed. "That states that Severus Snape was mentally affected by the events transpired on that corridor, and the mental burden of witnessing the brutality of the injuries imparted upon his beloved godson requires medical attention. Therefore, the Professor will take extended medical leave, to be reevaluated by the 30th of October, to coincide with the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations. Until then, we will have a medley of available Professors instructing you in the subject. In the meantime, I urge all the students to aid with the investigation regarding the attack to assure that it will not repeat itself."

"The man was a Death Eater," Vector scoffed quietly, but loud enough for the students to hear. "Mental burden of brutal injuries. _Please_."

A crashing noise came from the Gryffindor Table before the Headmaster could address the statement. When Dumbledore turned to look at what had caused it, he saw that Neville Longbottom had stood up violently, rattling the people around him.

"Will there be an investigation into Snape's actions yesterday?"

"I assure you, Mr. Longbo-"

"Will there be an investigation into Snape's actions yesterday?"

"Mr. Longbot-"

"It's a yes or no question," the boy barked. "Will there be an investigation into Snape's actions yesterday?"

"No such investigation is necessary at this moment."

"What do you _mean_ , no longer necessary?" The boy snarled with clenched fists.

"I am already quite aware of what Professor Snape said yesterday, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore tried, calmly.

"THEN WHY IS HE COMING BACK?!" The boy yelled, the objects around him shaking in response to his rage. The same vague smell of petrichor Snape had smelt yesterday invaded the Great Hall, and the students began shifting away from the enraged boy. Because it was not a Feast, there were no candles lit or tableware present, but the large lanterns used to light up the room were swinging slowly in response to the boy's anger. Dumbledore stared at the show in mild surprise, wondering if the runner up for the Prophecy could yield the same raw power.

"Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall said sharply. Unlike what Dumbledore had expected, the interjection did not create even a small amount of contriteness on the boy. On the contrary, when the young Gryffindor turned to face his Head of House, he began openly growling in anger. The Deputy Headmistress was unmoved by the show of force. " _If_ ," she said clearly, looking at Albus as she did, "Professor Snape _ever_ makes it back to this castle, you have my word that he will be either on his best behavior or he will be kept far away from you."

"That is NOT ENOUGH!" Neville bellowed. "His best behavior has always been that of a bully. It is astounding that _nothing_ was done about it until now. It took something as insane as what happened yesterday for you to take our complaints seriously, and after all that, he gets _medical leave for a month and a half?!"_

"Mr. Longbottom, please," Dumbledore tried again.

"NOT!" He said with a frustrated punch on the desk. "ENOUGH!"

"Mr. Longbottom, I assure you that I will not reinstate Professor Snape until his behavior is deemed acceptable, and he received a clean bill of health," the Headmaster said solemnly, despite the impulse to drown out the magical outburst from the boy with his own. He knew that such an action would only worsen his position with the rest of the students, however.

"Your assurances mean nothing!" The boy yelled, his voice already breaking with the effort, even though his emotions were still running high. Ignoring the shocked gasps that the open dismissal incurred from some across the room, he continued. "You are the one who hired him in the first place!"

At the staff table, Moody smirked. Augusta tried to mold the boy until his father, but he was his mother's son, through and through. That show of righteous anger and the courage to not bow down to people far stronger could be taken out of Alice's book. Frank also did not bend, but he was always a quiet rock, even when truly angered. Alice had been kind and welcoming, but an angry Alice would not hesitate to tear you to shreds.

"Mr. Longbottom, _**enough**_ ," Dumbledore yelled firmly over the sounds of the mounting whispered conversations. The boy was not cowed by the noise and was breathing in to yell something back when something interrupted him.

"Neville," Harry said softly in a low voice. He knew that no one could hear them, but he could still feel the eyes of the entire Great Hall on him and his frothing friend. When the boy did not react, Harry put his hand on Neville's shoulder and repeated a bit louder. "Neville."

"What do you want, Harry?" Neville snarled. It was amazing to see how much the anger had changed the mannerisms of the boy from his usual shyness to the open hostility he was showing publically against the most politically and magically powerful man in the country.

"Calm down," Harry responded appeasingly.

"You heard what the man said, Harry," Neville sneered. "Don't you dare say you wouldn't want the same as me."

"I do," Harry nodded. "Which is _why_ you need to calm down. Snape returning is good for us."

" _Explain,_ " Neville reacted angrily, grabbing Harry's robes with his right hand.

"Neville," Harry said, glancing slightly at the Headmaster before turning back to the boy. "Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake."

After a moment of silence between them, when Neville's fist was still grasping Harry's robe, the boy finally relented and said firmly. "This conversation is not over." When Harry nodded his agreement, Neville let him go and walked straight out of the Great Hall, ignoring McGonagall calling his name.

Again, Moody was looking at the Gryffindor Table in interest. His magical eye had many useful functions, but one of the best was that it helped him focus on things very far away. As such, he could see enough of the boys' lips to understand their conversation from afar. Once more, he marveled at how much a war orphan had resembled his mother. That quiet, calm, and confident brand of ruthlessness that was shining in Potter's eyes when he glanced in the direction of the Headmaster was pure Lily at the height of the war during their Order meetings.

Potter considered Dumbledore an enemy. That much was clear. So who were his allies?

For now, he would observe.

* * *

At the end of that day, following a very tiresome conversation with Hermione, Ron, and Neville about the situation with Snape, Harry was sitting in a hidden room inside the Dungeons with the group of Slytherins more closely associated with Daphne.

Before he could even sit down, Zabini snarled softly. "Longbottom is right. That is not enough for that man."

"He needs to go," Aileen agreed with a nod.

"We will never change the reputation of Slytherin House until he leaves," Daphne added with a sigh. "I already wrote to my father about what happened. I'm waiting for what he has to say."

"It's clear that Malfoy and Dumbledore worked together to save his job and reputation," Tracey mused out loud.

"Fudge mentioned during the World Cup that Malfoy Sr. had recently donated a large amount of money to St. Mungos. I bet that the Healer's document was from the wing they opened with his money," Harry said.

"Great," Bole huffed. "The two most powerful men in the country are behind the bastard. He is going to get away with it."

"I don't care what it takes, but that man is _not_ getting away with this without consequences," Blaise replied solemnly, his eyes glinting determinedly.

"He's not," Harry said softly.

"I never liked him, but I didn't think he would stoop so low," Tracey admitted lowly.

"He was trying to bait me," Harry deadpanned. "You said he recognized the ozone smell you mentioned came from my magic, didn't you? He thought if he insulted the students, he could determine who attacked Malfoy."

"There are more intelligent ways to do that," Bole considered.

"I didn't say it was an intelligent attempt," Harry shrugged. "Snape has always been unable to keep his temper in check around me."

"How did you not lose control of your magic?" Daphne asked curiously. "Is that why you didn't levitate Longbottom out of the room?"

"I knew that if I did levitate him, my magic was going to lash out, yes," Harry nodded. "As to not blowing up, I was too busy planning my revenge to get angry. Plus, I was biting the hell out of my tongue. It's still a bit sore."

"Revenge, huh?" Aileen asked.

"You didn't think I was about to let that man be casually abusive because of me and get away with it, did you?" Harry scoffed. "More than that, Daphne is right. Until he is gone, any reforms you try to make to Slytherin are going to be temporary, at best."

"I don't know how we're going to get rid of him," Bole admitted. "If that tirade only got a month-and-a-half suspension behind the façade of medical necessity, I can't even imagine what it would take to fire the man. Killing a student?"

"Speaking of which, why did you stop Longbottom's tirade, Potter?" Tracey asked with a cocked eyebrow. "He looked like he was about to try to kill Snape himself."

"As I said to Neville at the table, don't interrupt your enemies when they're making a mistake," Harry said calmly.

"Which enemy are you talking about?" Daphne asked with a sideways glance.

"Dumbledore, of course," Harry admitted. When the room stared at him in shock, he just sighed. "Come on, are you _really_ that surprised?"

"Excuse me if I'm shocked that the Boy-Who-Lived considers Dumbledore an enemy," Aileen scoffed. "It's not exactly what you'd expect."

"Dumbledore doesn't accept allies who don't worship the ground he walks on," Harry shrugged. "I am not much of a follower."

"Still, an enemy?" Bole asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"The man fancies himself my mentor," Harry replied. "My breaking away from him is unacceptable in his eyes."

"How come?" Aileen asked curiously.

"You said it yourself, didn't you?" Harry smirked coldly. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Regardless, what mistake did the man make?" Daphne asked, despite already suspecting the answer.

"He is going to readmit Snape long before the school would forgive him for his words," Harry said. "He's trying to be clever and reintroduce him as the foreign students are arriving so that no one notices, but it's still way too early."

"As much as we can agree that is a mistake, I don't see how we can use that to get the man fired," Zabini snapped.

"What is Snape's biggest weakness?" Harry asked the Italian boy.

"The fact he is still breathing?" Blaise responded innocently.

"Blaise," Tracey warned.

"Fine," the boy huffed. "His temper."

"Exactly. Do you think he is going to be any better a month and a few weeks from now?" Harry asked, glancing at the people around him.

"Of course not," Bole said firmly. "He doesn't have any medical problems, after all, just a shit attitude."

"We can use that," Harry leaned forwards conspiratorially. "We don't have to wait until he makes a mistake. He was trying to bait me, wasn't he? When he gets back, we bait _him_ into losing his temper again."

"To what end?" Aileen asked skeptically. "Dumbledore would just bail him out again, saying the medical leave was premature."

"The foreign students," Tracey realized, making Harry smile in her direction. "He can't sweep any abuse under the rug if we get the incident reported to the foreign schools fast enough. Malfoy has no power internationally, and Dumbledore's hold in the ICW is not as strong as his power base domestically."

"There you have it," Harry smiled coldly. "We have more than a month to prepare for it. When he comes back, we'll be ready."

"Snape is going to pay," Zabini said bitingly.

"We'll make sure of it," Harry promised.

"Good," the boy nodded firmly. "That man should be in jail, not teaching children."

"Now that we have more than a month of not having Snape breathing down our necks, what are we going to do?" Bole interrupted, leaning back.

"We're not stopping with the cursed incense, are we?" Blaise smirked.

"You just want the Dreamless Sleep Potion," Daphne said amusedly.

"I don't deny it," the boy smiled beatifically. "But the main thing was Malfoy's face in the morning. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott's was funny, but Malfoy was a thing of beauty," he sighed before finishing dreamily. "If I ever conjure a Patronus, I know what memory to use."

"We can't do it every day," Daphne laughed. "Or you'll all get addicted. Plus, it doesn't make sense to torment them daily. Let's give them a few days of hope before hitting them with new nightmares. We have enough potion to last for a while."

"The best part is that with Snape gone, there's no one to brew Dreamless Sleep Potion for them," Bole smiled coldly. "Too bad I'm not in Montague's and Pucey's year. I would love to see them wake up in the morning."

"You still see them at breakfast," Aileen reminded him with a small smile.

"It's not the same," the Seventh-Year boy sighed despondently, making everyone laugh a bit.

"Seriously, now that we have the House at our disposal, what can we do?" Tracey asked. Everyone turned to Daphne, who just smiled.

* * *

Hermione Granger was sitting on an armchair in the Common Room and reading a book on Ancient Runes. At least, that was what it looked like to the untrained eye. Those who knew her best would be able to tell that her discreet glances to the door were entirely unusual for the hyper-focused girl and would be a dead giveaway she didn't much care about the book at the moment.

Harry was gone again. She sighed, resisting the urge to close the book and just stare at the portrait of the Fat Lady waiting for him to arrive. Hermione had already been feeling sad given that her relationship with Harry had regressed to their usual level of friendly bantering and studying together, but she didn't want that.

She missed their date. She should have kissed him. She sighed again.

Her thoughts had not been elaborate lately. The frustration of not being first in all the classes she liked - not getting in the top five in Ancient Runes had truly bothered her, despite the successes elsewhere - coupled with the feeling of losing the ground she had gained with Harry during their date had already been grinding at her focus. But today, she was so distraught that she couldn't even pretend to be focused. Because she knew where Harry was.

Harry was with _her_.

There were moments when Hermione truly hated Greengrass.

The situation with Snape had affected the Gryffindors most of all. Why would he want to spend so much time with the Slytherin, then?

She felt angry and jealous at the attention afforded to whom she considered her rival. She wanted to scream at Harry to pay attention to her, to look at her, to forget Greengrass and take care of her for a change, but what would that accomplish? Crazy, irrationally jealous Hermione wouldn't get Harry anyway.

But damn, if crazy, irrationally jealous didn't want to make an appearance some nights.

She was thankful that the mess with Snape had covered up for her losing her composure and dreamily staring at Harry in the middle of a lecture. Honestly, what was wrong with her? She didn't want to sacrifice her grades or personality for the benefit of pursuing something with Harry. Staring dreamily at a boy in the middle of a lecture was not something she ought to be doing, regardless of how amazingly handsome the boy was.

Although she did admit that she had zoned out a bit and daydreamed about Harry during her hours in the library. She felt her cheeks flush and moaned silently as she hid her face behind her hands. She cast a _Tempus_. It was already past curfew.

Who knows when Harry would get back anyway? She tried to shrug his absence away, but a confused mixture of anger, jealousy and profound longing was already forming in her chest and making it hard for her to keep her posture. She marched her way to the Fourth-Year dorm and was ready to throw herself heavily down on her bed when an arm pulled her away from her intended target.

Half a second later, Hermione was staring at the smiling faces of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil behind the latter's bed curtains. She blinked owlishly at the girls, whose grins kept widening.

"Hello, Hermione," Lavender chirped excitedly.

"Lavender? Parvati? What's going on?" Hermione looked around. The bed was uncharacteristically tidied up, and none of the girls' usual trinkets and magazines were around.

"This is an intervention," Parvati said seriously. Lavender nodded solemnly.

"About what?" Hermione asked defensively.

"Girl, you look like someone kicked your kneazle in front of you for at least three hours every day," Lavender complained before brightening up and saying in a teasing fashion. "And we all know why."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione babbled.

"Are you going to make me say it?" Lavender looked at her through her long lashes. When Hermione did nothing but gape at the girl and started looking for the way out, the girl smiled amusedly. "You're pining for Harry."

Hermione blushed from the scalp of her hair down to her toes and couldn't even field a poor excuse. After trying to think of something, but failing to come up with anything due to the two witches giggling at her expression and her mounting nerves, she just asked nervously. "Is it that obvious?"

When the girls squealed and hugged her fiercely while laughing happily, Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling a bit embarrassedly. She was never close to her fellow Gryffindor dormmates, and she had been a bit too derisive in her interactions with the two over the past few years, but it felt nice to be embraced, literally and metaphorically.

"Honestly, yes," Parvati said, making Hermione blush brighter and setting off another fit of giggling. "Don't worry, I don't think he noticed."

"We had a date at the end of the summer," she admitted with a shy smile.

"What?" Lavender gasped. "Tell me everything!"

Hermione laughed and grabbed the photographs she kept in her school bag at all times. When she gave them the same two photos she had given to Greengrass on the train, both girls were looking at her like they had never seen her before.

"Hermione, you look _amazing_!" Parvati gushed. Lavender nodded excitedly. Hermione smiled more widely before the Indian girl set off laughing. "Merlin, look at poor Harry's face! He doesn't know what hit him."

Hermione started describing the date to the best of her abilities and started to partake in a session of honest to goodness gossiping with two people she thought she would never connect. It felt wonderfully therapeutic after so many days of worrying about the status of her relationship with Harry and his disappearing act.

"So, let me guess," Lavender grinned knowingly. "You are frustrated that you don't seem to be getting anywhere."

"Yes," Hermione whined. "And it's honestly bothering me so much."

Suddenly the expressions on the two witches turned a bit more serious and Hermione sobered along the general atmosphere.

"This was actually what this intervention is about," Lavender said cautiously, while Hermione just got more confused.

"Hermione," Parvati said, grabbing one of her hands. "We are honestly worried about you."

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

"We're both thrilled you're into Harry," Lavender said. "Honestly, we think you go along great! But your reactions lately haven't been very healthy."

"You look like you _need_ Harry to pay attention to you," Parvati interrupted before Hermione could say anything. "And that is not good."

"It isn't?" Hermione asked weakly. In honesty, she did feel like being close to Harry was a necessity since the end of the Third Year, and the feeling had grown ever since.

"Not at all," Parvati said seriously. "You should never _need_ to have another person in your life. They should make you happier but never depend on another person to _make_ you happy. Needing people is only good for writing songs on the Wireless."

"Why do you think Parvati and I spend so much time reading about fashion and makeup?" Lavender asked. "Yeah, we _are_ a bit vain and we're not afraid to admit it, but we like doing it because feeling beautiful and attractive makes us happy with ourselves. Boys paying attention is great and all, but it's not the objective."

"I see," Hermione fidgeted under their careful eyes. "I don't think that's the thing that is going to do it for me," she added slowly. "I did feel good on that date, but it was more because of Harry's reaction."

"Again, that's fine," Parvati nodded. "It can be something with the books you love. But you can't _depend_ on Harry. That's not to say you should stop pursuing him, go get your wizard, but don't forget yourself in the process."

"If you need help with that or with anything else, we're here for you," Lavender smiled warmly, making Hermione smile back gratefully. The blonde's smile turned a little sly. "As long as you tell us about those clothes in that photograph. Girl, I did _not_ think you had it in you!"

Hermione laughed and nodded. She could wonder about her behavior toward Harry in a bit. For the moment, Hermione was enjoying her conversation with the two witches too much. She didn't think she would ever open up fully to the two as she did to Harry or Ron. They were too different, and this little intervention couldn't change that. Still, it was fun. It was a tentative and odd friendship, but it was a tentative and odd world, after all.


	6. The Price of Purchasing Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note: Some of Dirk Cresswell's sentences in this chapter will be a bit complicated to understand. Part of this characterization is on purpose. As you may recall, I have described him as a man that has not much talent for words. I thought it was appropriate for him to fumble a bit to explain his thoughts. But don't worry, eventually, there will be a fuller and clearer explanation of what he sees about Wizarding Britain's economy and how it ties into Gringotts.

**C** **hapter Six- The Price of Purchasing Power**

* * *

Harry Potter woke up in an unfamiliar place: clearly not in Gryffindor Tower. It took him a second to recall how he had used some of his meditation incense behind his four-poster bed and rationalize that he was in a dream. Much like the last time he had dreamt under the incense's influence, he was in a dreary and somewhat haunting place.

It was at the bottom of the ocean, beside a sunken ship. The shipwreck was already half-consumed with rust and seemed made out of steel and iron. There were chimneys on it, making it look old and unmatching with Harry's idea of what a naval vessel was. The word 'shipwreck' brought to his mind thoughts of wood, rope and sails, not steel, iron and coal. The ship looked sturdy enough that it should not have sunk, unlike the inherent vulnerability that seemed so apparent on a wooden one.

Curiously, despite being deep underwater, where the sun struggled to reach, he found he had no trouble seeing the ship as clearly as he would have had it been on land. Even more curiously, he could breathe normally, without any aid whatsoever. As soon as he stood up and gingerly took a step to explore the shipwreck, a large force bore upon his shoulders, determined to put him down. Immediately gasping from the weight, Harry fell heavily on one knee before he could even process what was happening. As soon as he did, the pressure lessened and Harry blinked in slight shock.

When he moved to stand again, the pressure once more bore through the waters to force him to kneel. Angered by this, Harry attempted to stand, his legs shaking, dealing with increasing levels of pain as the ocean turned darker and darker with his unwillingness to give in. After a minute or so, the pain in his legs was so intense he could no longer feel his toes - all he felt was the unbearable ache of his thigh muscles compressed beyond their capabilities - and his knees began to buckle under the pressure.

Holding back a scream, he took a step towards the ship and saw the ocean begin to rebel against him again, this time not only trying to force him down but also pushing him away from the wreck. Having felt from the wreck the same level of importance he had felt with the yew tree, he was undeterred by this obstacle, yet the waters conspired against him and he found himself struggling to take a single step.

The urge to kneel and give up was all-consuming, but rage started to fill the spot occupied by his pain, pushing it out. He hated external forces bearing down on him, forcing him to do things, pushing him away from where he wanted to go. He felt the anger of having Sirius sent away by Dumbledore, the rage of being put under the Dursley's care for a decade, the fury of being left to his own devices to deal with danger, but never in anything else. Barely cognizant of any thoughts passing through his mind as the blanket of hot, molten fury consumed him from the inside out, he refused to comply with the waters and took another step.

The forces working against him became stronger and he let out a strangled gasp of pain. His anger surged again, strengthening something that felt alien yet so familiar inside him. He felt someone take a step for him before he could make the decision and held back a cry of pain as the pressure increased again.

Then he took another step. The cycle repeated itself with increasingly smaller steps as even his anger and all-consuming determination faltered under the seemingly infinite pain that the ocean inflicted upon him. Every step he took was half of what the previous one had been and soon, like Achilles running against the tortoise, the distance separating him and the ship became shorter yet stayed infinite. Finally, a couple of meters from the wreck, the pain became too much for him to take a single step more. At that point, he had been only inching towards his destination, but every movement, no matter how small, made the suffering double.

Gathering as much strength as he could from his near-depleted muscles, he crouched, noticing with passing amusement that the ocean seemed to brighten and the pressure dulled. Enjoying the slight sense of relief, he focused on jumping the rest of the way from his stationary position, noticing how mid-trajectory the water became an almost murky black and seemed to screech in displeasure.

When Harry landed inside the shipwreck the pressure instantly went away, but the pain up into that point had been so intense that he could not plant his feet properly. His legs finally gave way and he fell heavily to the floor, barely raising his arms in time to stop his head from hitting a sharp edge protruding from the wall in front of him.

Panting in exhaustion and almost crying with relief, he took a minute to analyze his surroundings before trying to stand. He was in a narrow, somewhat long corridor with many stairs and rooms appearing at irregular intervals along each side. There was no symmetry to the construction of the ship; things seemed to sprout up without any sense of purpose or reason. There was no standard - one stairway would be almost militaristic, made from rigid metal and affixed in place with enormous bolts while others would be spiralized or made from a malleable string that was only barely holding together underwater. When he finally stood up, using the wall to support and provide his still aching legs with some respite, he also peered into the rooms closest to him and noted they were also incoherent. One was almost regal, with large and imposing furniture contrasting with the dainty and golden décor sprinkled around. Another was completely barren except for a single mattress on the ground. A third seemed of modern design, made from glass and well lit, with tables and chairs that looked expensive, if not very comfortable.

He wanted to snort when he saw that at the very end of the corridor there was an imposing black door - because of course there would be - and his feet dragged him there tiredly. He touched the door handle and his hand immediately recoiled. The handle was indescribably cold. It wasn't the coldest thing Harry had ever felt - his Ice Whip Curse was notably colder, but even that had some thrum of energy passing through it in the form of the magic used to conjure it. The handle felt inert. Not in the way that unliving objects like door handles ought to feel, but with a sense of distinct loss. Harry had felt the feeling once before when he had had to dispose of a dead bird that flew into a window at the Dursley's. That impossible stillness from the once-living thing and the heavy thud when Harry had thrown it into the bin still echoed in his head.

Grimacing with discomfort, he once again grabbed the handle and opened the door.

In retrospect, it was unsurprising to find Death once again. Knowing that he was in a dream, Harry did not feel the same fear of having maybe died, but still, being confronted by the specter of Death was uncomfortable no matter the situation.

" **Hello,** " Death said portentously.

"Hello," Harry said glibly.

" **You stood,** " Death observed with some amusement apparent in his voice, though his eyes did not lose their gloomy blackness.

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned confusedly.

" **You were not supposed to be able to stand with only a third,** " Death said more to himself than to utterly confused Harry. " **With your attitude, one would think you would be one of Antioch's, not Ignotus's.** "

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, already trying to find his wand to feel at least some sense of protection. Sensing this, Death laughed in booming amusement.

" **Only one wand can sustain my presence** ," the hooded figure said, lovingly caressing his scythe. Harry gulped dryly despite knowing he was in a dream.

"I'm guessing it isn't mine," Harry said warily.

" **Correct** ," Death said shortly, his amusement dying out with such uncomfortable quickness that it made Harry's hair stand on end.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked. "Where is the woman?"

" **Ah, yes,** " Death spoke slowly. " **The** _ **woman**_. **I am afraid she is not here.** "

"And why not?" Harry asked with some fear creeping into his tone. He had the distinct impression that he had left the previous dream untouched by Death merely due to the red woman's presence and her absence now did not bode well for him.

" **Are you insufficiently impressed with just** _ **one**_ **ever-powerful entity speaking with you?** " Death asked with a cocked eyebrow. Harry stammered for a response before clinging to the implications of the last statement.

"Wait, if you're both... er... entities, and you're Death, does that make her Life or something?"

" **I am forever amused by how humans always see the world in inverses and dichotomies** _ **,**_ " Death spoke as lightly as it could, despite it still sounding gloomy and vaguely threatening. " **No, she is not Life merely because she interacts with me. Everything interacts with me eventually, but alas, that does not make them Life.** "

"I see," Harry said uncertainly.

" **Do you?** " Death asked, leaning forwards. " **As for your presence here, young wizard, you are here because you are trying to understand yourself**."

"But why are you here?" Harry asked with more confidence than he felt. "Why not the woman?"

" **I am here because I am needed,** " Death said shortly. " **But also because I have a vested interest in you.** "

"A vested interest?" Harry questioned weakly. Having Death itself take a liking to him felt enormously uncomfortable. "Because of my parents?"

" **Everyone's parents die,** " Death replied tonelessly. " **If I took an interest in every parentless wizard, I would have no time to be interested in them.** "

"Why then?" Harry asked, somewhat desperately.

" **You will know, with time**."

"Why does everyone speak in riddles all the time?" Harry grumbled to himself.

" **It is not my place or responsibility to explain things to you,"** Death said gravely. " **Besides, it amuses me.** "

"I am glad to be so amusing," Harry deadpanned, slightly annoyed.

" **You should be,** " Death agreed good-naturedly. " **Most people are too busy crying and despairing when they see me to be amusing."**

"I can't imagine why," Harry shot back before sighing. "So, beyond the purpose of meditation, I have a mysterious connection with you that I have no way of knowing about."

" **You have many ways of knowing about it** ," Death disagreed. " **I simply refuse to give it to you. You are not my responsibility yet."**

"Let's hope that 'yet' takes a long time to come," Harry protested.

" **I doubt you will maintain that tone once you know of our connection** ," Death said amusedly, piquing Harry's interest before he soberly remembered he was speaking with the literal manifestation of Death, whose mindset would differ from his.

"What is your purpose?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.

" **I believe that is fairly apparent** _,_ " Death remarked dryly.

"I don't mean in general. I mean here," Harry said firmly. He pointed to the scythe. "If you are not here to reap me, or to tell me about our connection, why are you here?"

" **That is the question, Harry Potter,** " Death said. Hearing his name spoken by Death made Harry feel as if he would listen to funeral bells in his near future. " **Why is it that your mind drifts to me when thinking about itself?** "

"My mind?" Harry asked weakly.

" **Where else would we be?** " Death asked acerbically. " **You are in a dream, after all**."

"If this is a dream, are you even real?"

" **Does it matter?** " Death inquired with an indulgent expression. " **All will experience Death, but it is still a deeply personal affair. If I am not the Death that claimed your parents, am I a lesser Death?** "

"What you are _,_ is infuriating," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead.

" **Everything is infuriating** ," Death said sagely. " **It is inescapable to have intelligence and not feel anger or disappointment. Before you leave, allow me to make a point. Many who meditate do so in an attempt to define themselves while being mindful of their demise."**

Harry thought of what Bill had told him previously and nodded in the brief silence that greeted the room after the being in front of him spoke.

" **A logical consequence of that is that an immortal being requires no definition. As an immortal myself, allow me to say that this is not true,** " Death leaned forwards, assuming the body posture of someone divulging a much-guarded secret. " **Do not fall into the trap of many before you to define your life by your mortality. Life is not a dichotomy. Death is merely a companion. Remember, sometimes, the only way to know yourself is to live**."

After saying that, the being did not wait for an answer. Much like the red woman had previously done, he leaned even further into Harry's personal space and touched his forehead lightly, making the boy wake up panting in his bed.

* * *

Half the country away, Dirk Cresswell was sitting in a room with Amelia Bones, waiting for their party to arrive. The two had sat previously on cases involving Gringotts or the rare occasion of Goblins committing crimes that fell outside of the purview of the bank, so their presence in the same room would not raise eyebrows.

What would raise eyebrows was the rather large books surrounding the Muggle-born as he sat down and took notes.

"It is rare for a wizard to carry Muggle books around," Amelia noted. Even though she could not see what the many books were about, it was obvious by the way Cresswell kept cross-referencing them and making notes of his own that he was researching something.

"I was never the usual wizard," Cresswell said amiably, not raising his gaze from his notes. "However, I do have a purpose. I am studying Economics in order to better understand some things."

"I imagine it has something to do with Cygnus setting you up as the strategist of this endeavor?" Amelia asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Strategist is too heavy a term," Dirk said pensively. "But yes, it has something to do with my role in this. Specifically, it has to do with how to change Wizarding Britain's economic logic."

" _Economic logic_?" Amelia asked dryly. "Why would that, whatever it is, need changing?"

Dirk hesitated slightly. Amelia Bones was a good woman and an exceptional witch. That said, she also was a member of a family with a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot. There were things about the lives of common magicals that she would find difficult to understand, even after a career as an Auror. Resigning himself to the fact that he would need to win over the rest of their group with his ideas anyway, he figured he could start laying the groundwork now.

"Amelia, have you ever wondered why we aren't in constant warfare with the Goblins, despite our obvious tension?" He asked, closing his notebook and facing the woman.

Frowning at the apparent change in the topic of conversation, she answered from the top of her head. "Well, Goblins and the Ministry adhere to the terms of the treaties they have signed after numerous Goblin Rebellions. It's a political compromise."

"Very well, then. Keep that answer in mind. Now answer me another thing. Why have the Goblins, previously a race of miners, craftsmen, traders, and warriors, interwoven themselves so strongly with Gringotts?"

"They are rather famously taken with gold," Amelia said dryly.

"Good. Let's assume your premise is correct. Now answer this hypothetical. Almost all of the gold in Wizarding Britain is currently in Gringotts, under armed guards employed by the bank, and not the Ministry. If the Goblins are as taken with gold and wealth as you assume, why haven't they leveraged the enormous financial power they have over us to achieve more rights?"

Amelia couldn't answer that. She was keenly aware of how much power the Goblins held over wizards but she was also aware that wizards were powerful enough to fight back another rebellion, even with depleted Aurors and Hit-Wizards. It was enough of a hassle to maintain that deterrent that she did not often wonder about the deep questions behind the interactions of the two races. That was Cresswell's job, after all.

"The characterization of Goblins as mindless and greedy little blighters is incorrect," Dirk interrupted her incoming protest with a raised hand. "We both know that is how you think about them, and I do not blame you. Everyone else does as well. The thing is, Goblins are as heterogeneous as wizards are. They are a complex culture, in many ways a more advanced one than our own and in many other ways much less so. The reason they do not infringe upon the Treaties as often as the Ministry does is that Goblins are obsessed with honor."

"I can understand that. However, I don't see here the point of the statement is."

"I'm trying to explain to you why the Goblins are the way they are when it comes to honor and gold," Cresswell said patiently. "It will help me make my point about our economy much easier." When Amelia nodded, he continued.

"The fact that Goblins are so attached to honor does not make them better, but that they _have_ to be more honorable. Goblins live in caves underground, but they do not burrow. You've been in Goblin court with me occasionally, so you know about how their heaviest sentence not including the capital punishment is being assigned to the mines?" Amelia nodded again. "Being a miner in Gringotts is a prolonged death sentence because dig-ins kill them and they are frequent in their cave systems. Despite being divided into clans who often hold long-standing grudges, there is very little subterfuge to be found in a Goblin's daily life. Can you guess why?"

When Amelia signaled that she couldn't, Dirk continued. "Goblins are much more attuned to natural magic than wizards. They can feel the inherent weaknesses in magical structures with ease, making them excellent for ward-breaking. However, their _homes_ are magical structures."

"They can bring down their own buildings easily," Amelia said in a horrified voice. Dirk nodded.

"One cannot build a stable society when you do not know if a political enemy is going to take a stroll into your home and bury you alive with a touch of a finger. They need to be honorable and reject underhandedness or their society would collapse," he said gravely. "That is not to say that there is no crime in Gringotts, or that they are all paragons of virtue. They will fight tooth and nail for their betterment and if they have to use dirty tricks in a battle to win, they will. But once they agree to do something, they will uphold their part of the bargain. It is how their environment and how their magical affinities shaped them to be.

"I say this because the Goblins' attitude to precious metals is similarly not a manifestation of their greed, it is a cultural imperative. They live underground, and for centuries it was their mining and crafting that has allowed them to trade with other races for food. They store gold because they fear starvation. Just like their innate sense of honor has evolved from the necessity for a stable society, they hoard metals because that is how their society has evolved. Accumulation of metals is a huge deal in their culture. The problem with that is that accumulation of metals is _also_ a huge deal in our own culture."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with you studying Muggle Economics books, or with the _economic logic_ of wizards," Amelia said, getting a bit irritated despite being fascinated with what she was hearing.

"The thing is that both our societies can be more or less accurately described by an economic movement that was very prevalent in the Muggle World around the time of the Statute of Secrecy. We are both mercantilist societies. Mercantilism is a bit complicated, so take this summary with a grain of salt, but the idea is that there is an emphasis on accumulating as much gold and silver as possible. Current Muggle society is built on _credit_. Wizards rely heavily on physical gold. That dependence on physical sources of cash brings several implications that hold for both Goblins and wizards: a preference for monopolies - several families in the Wizarding World get at least part of their wealth by cornering one single section of the market, like Ogden for firewhiskey, Malfoy for wine, or Greengrass for potion ingredients - an aversion for buying from other societies, trying to sell only to them, and a very strong central government," Dirk took a deep breath. "The thing is that unlike the Goblins', our preference for storing precious metals is not a cultural phenomenon, it's a mixture of a magical imperative and an economic choice. We chose to use gold as our metal because we cannot create gold without knowing high alchemy, which is tremendously difficult. Counterfeiting is basically impossible. But we can reform our economic system to the less mercantilist with much more ease than the Goblins ever could.

"This is only a _very short_ summary," Dirk grimaced. "It is just a theory I am forming. But from what I currently understand, we will never be rid of the economic stronghold that the old families have on our country if we do not rid ourselves from a mercantilist point of view. The problem is that the way Muggles have done it involves banking, which would make the Goblins a central part of whichever way out we try. That becomes doubly problematic because Goblins are _also_ mercantilists. The majority of our wealth is sitting inertly in vaults because it is in the interests of both the old families and the Goblins to keep it there. We need to create an economic incentive to change that."

Amelia was quietly examining the man in front of her. He had finished his thoughts with a sense of certainty that she saw frequently in her job. She hadn't understood much of what Dirk had said - the man didn't have a way with words and was somewhat convoluted in his logic. She suspected he had never really spoken about what he believed in due to his status as a Muggle-born and the inherently diplomatic nature of his job. He was a technocrat. Yet, she _did_ understand enough of the last sentence to at least guess at what the man was implying.

"You are going to need to work on your phrasing, Dirk, or no one will understand you," Amelia settled finally. The man smiled bashfully and nodded minutely and went back to his notes. "If you'll allow an interruption, I do not work with Goblins often enough to understand this, but you said that they would never leverage their hold on our wealth over us to get more rights. As Director of the DMLE, I'm compelled to ask: what _would_ they use as leverage?"

"Large swathes of our population are dependent on Gringotts, and not because of their banking activities," Cresswell said somberly. "You are, of course, aware that most wizards _do not_ get to attend Hogwarts, correct?"

"I am."

"Many people living in this subsection of our population that are not fortunate enough to have graduated from Hogwarts work in the Ministry or the Alley, or any of the magical establishments scattered around England, but not many work in commerce. They _do_ work in agriculture. Specifically, magical agriculture," he said before rubbing his forehead. "Wizards eat the same food that Muggles do. But Goblins don't. So while we can buy our food in the Muggle world or use middlemen like Cygnus to do so, they cannot. Their food must be magical, but they cannot grow it, living mostly underground."

"So, they buy food from our poorest citizens," Amelia said shortly, already anticipating what the problem was.

"They have threatened, many times, to buy food from other countries instead," Dirk grimaced. "This is my biggest headache by far and to be frank, the largest reason why I even have a seat on the Wizengamot. Fudge does not see me as his diplomat to Gringotts. Firstly he sees me as an accountant and someone who can ensure the Ministry can borrow money from the Goblins if necessary. But also..."

"He sees you as a barometer."

"Yes," he sighed. "I can tell him when to back away from infringing the Treaties and when the Goblins are getting serious about changing their food source. That is another consequence of our mercantilist mindset: the _only_ significant export we have to the Goblins is food. Our economies are completely separate. As dependent on our food production as they are, they have what is called a monopsony. A monopsony is a position where a single buyer controls the market. We can't threaten them by withholding food shipments because even if we did not care for the moral implications, their patronage is the main source of income for a significant part of the population and so is essential to their survival. And they can always buy their food from the French."

"Merlin," Amelia said weakly.

"You know what's worse?" Dirk said with a bit of agony bleeding into his tone. "These wizards don't even grow things they can eat. If they can't sell their magical foodstuff to the Goblins, they will starve. The Goblins don't rebel because they don't need to. They can sic a rebellion on us at any point they want."

"Couldn't we buy their produce in case that happens?"

"A lot of Muggle countries have done that in the past in similar situations. The problem is that artificially meeting that supply doesn't create demand. We have no use for what they make, only the Goblins do. And yes, we could support them for a year or two, but that would not create an incentive for the poorest families among us to change their economic activity. Their single buyer would simply change from Gringotts to the Ministry. And eventually, the Ministry would not have the cash flow to support these citizens anymore."

"And we would have a revolt on our hands anyway," Amelia finished darkly.

"And no money to fight it," Dirk confirmed.

"How did I not know this?" Amelia asked aghast. "I am the Director of the DMLE. This is an existential threat."

"You do not know this because it is not your prerogative to know this, according to the Ministry," Dirk said tiredly. "It is mine. There is a reason that Muggle-borns are assigned my job, Amelia. We have no credible escape valves to divulge this information to. The powers that be don't want to create a panic. What am I supposed to do? Go to the press? Their allies control the Daily Prophet. I can't say this inside the Ministry without being arrested. Anyone else would dismiss me for a fool. Frankly, the only reason I am speaking with you about this now is that I finally have a platform to use my voice without having to fear for my life or my children's lives. Greengrass and you can protect me."

"And if you fail at your job?" Amelia asked.

"Then, I die."

"You think Fudge would have you killed?" Amelia asked in surprise. The man was many things, but he would not kill a political opponent, she was sure of it.

"He wouldn't need to," Dirk said dryly.

"Ah," Amelia said. "Malfoy."

"Not only him. A lot of his allies. Malfoy may be the clearest example, but he is far from the only one - or even the worse one, to be honest."

"That is true," Amelia sighed. "Remind me to never allow people to make fun of your job in my presence ever again."

"Noted," Dirk said with some amusement and went back to his books.

Some minutes later, Cresswell put down all his notes as Cygnus arrived with a caravan of their allies following behind. For all those who saw him, it would look like a meeting of the Grey Faction. No one would think twice to check for new additions and they would never see Amelia Bones or Dirk Cresswell. In the mass of wizards, they would not see Hector Scamander either. The eight members in the room would speak for the benefit of everyone else in their faction not personally represented.

"Greetings, everyone," Cygnus said firmly from the top of the table. "How are things?"

"No new developments on my end," Howell Boot announced. "I don't think we need to fear any members of our party to defect to Dumbledore's group. I am a bit more apprehensive about Malfoy being so silent, but that has more to do with the man himself than anything else."

"Well, prepare for his silence to end soon," Cygnus declared. "The man has requested a meeting with me."

"Do you think he will try something?" Hector asked.

"No," Amelia interrupted. "He wouldn't go after Lord Greengrass so directly. It likely has something to do with the events in Hogwarts."

"That is my conclusion as well," Cygnus sighed. "It is not a pleasant situation, but there's nothing to be done about it."

"It may fall outside my jurisdiction, but I can't avoid my curiosity," Amelia leaned forwards. "Do you happen to know who could have been behind the retaliation? After all, my niece goes to school there. I am uncomfortable with the level of violence I read on my reports."

"Truthfully, I do not," Cygnus answered with a shrug. "I have suspicions. I am also sure that Daphne knows the offender, but I can't bring myself to care about the incident enough to intervene. I can assure you, however, that if Daphne suspected the offender to be an active threat to anyone, she would have told me immediately."

"Very well, Cygnus," Amelia said after a tense beat of silence. "But if this does repeat itself to that scale, I will investigate, even if I have to do so on my own time."

"I would expect nothing less," Lord Greengrass nodded sharply. "Speaking of in your own time, how is your investigation into the trial going on?"

The Sirius Black situation was not known by everyone in the group, even within this somewhat small subset of the entire faction. It had caused some grumbling, but eventually, Cygnus had laid the point across that giving the yet unnamed wizard a fair trial after his lengthy unfair imprisonment would provide them with two powerful allies. It had been enough to satiate their curiosities, and their sensibilities had been shot by a wizard going to Azkaban without trial.

"It is as we suspect," Amelia said with pursed lips. "There was no trial, under the premise that the end of the war called for immediate judgment of war criminals. People wanted the Death Eaters condemned as soon as possible. Instead of calling the presumed criminals from Azkaban for trial before the full Wizengamot, as happened with the Lestrange brothers, Bellatrix and Crouch Jr., no one ever sent his court order. It was deliberate."

"Is there evidence to show that he has never received a trial?" Hector asked with a frown.

"Yes," Amelia nodded.

"Is that not enough to overturn his imprisonment and bring him to the full Wizengamot?"

The room as a whole seemed to deflate slightly, and Dirk winced. Hector caught onto this and turned to Cygnus for an explanation.

"It's more complicated than that. Even if we ignore the fact that the man would be convicted by the Wizengamot regardless of what we showed as evidence of his innocence, we can't just show he did not receive a trial and demand one."

"For one, they would hold his trial _in absentia_ ," Amelia explained with a frustrated voice. "Without even allowing for a defense."

"More importantly, however, the Wizengamot is never wrong," Boot said scathingly. For the exceedingly mild-mannered man, this level of emotion was jarring for Scamander.

"What he means by that, Hector, is that the Wizengamot has a somewhat tilted version of the importance of jurisprudence," Lord Smith said calmly. "Unless there is a sufficiently strong political imperative for change, they will take the words of their predecessors to heart. Wizards, particularly those who sit in the Wizengamot, are very much loyal to their history. That means that they would assume that the Wizengamot was aware of the lack of trial and chose not to intervene instead of admitting to the fallibility of their forebearers. Even if those _forebearers_ are strictly hypothetical. Many of those who sit in the body were members at the end of the war and would remember a lack of trial, but that is irrelevant."

"That is just monumentally stupid," Hector deadpanned, enjoying the guilty winces from some people in the room and the grins blossoming on others.

"That is the danger of mixing legislative and judicial functions," Cresswell shrugged.

"And why reform is so important," Cygnus said firmly, to the nods of those around him. "And you, Roman?"

"The transfer of the Goblet of Fire from the Department of Mysteries to the Department of Magical Games and Sports will be done in two weeks," Smith said importantly. "It will be overseen by Bertha."

"How is Bertha, incidentally?" Omar Shafiq asked languidly. "The woman has been acting oddly from what I have gathered."

"I saw her files in St. Mungo's," Hector, who worked as a Healer, divulged. "Obviously, I cannot give you the details, but from what her experience seemed to be in Albania, a change of personality to a more serious and somewhat brooding type is not unexpected. It is the nature of mental trauma."

"If the woman is so clearly still affected by whatever happened there, should she be working?" Tiberius Ogden, who had transferred to their group alongside Amelia, asked with a frown.

"She was medically cleared," Hector shrugged. "By whom I have no clue."

"Regardless, is there any other news on your front?" Cygnus asked, facing Smith.

"Not news _per se_ , but Ludovic has been enormously hesitant to share the details of the First Task with me," Roman Smith frowned. "It's only a matter of time until he has to, but he gets visibly nervous."

"That doesn't bode well," Ogden murmured.

"Why have you gone to the effort of infiltrating the administration of the Tournament?" Amelia asked curiously.

"It's the largest event in the Ministry's calendar," Shafiq explained. "If it's a success, we can claim it for ourselves. If it's a failure, we can dump it in Bagman's lap; the man is close enough to Fudge that the stink would stick. It's a positive scenario regardless of what happens."

"Plus, to be honest, I do not trust Bagman to ensure the Tournament is going to be safe," Cygnus said from his chair, staring at Amelia. "You have Susan at the school, and I have Daphne and Astoria."

"I can respect that," Amelia nodded.

"Does anyone else have any news?" Cygnus asked, looking around the table.

"I am still sniping at the edges of Dumbledore's faction to see if there's someone reliable I can bring over," Ogden said before smiling slyly. "Doge did confront me actually, but I simply said I was trying to convince people to come over to Amelia's faction. That appeased him."

"Well, it was not a lie," Omar chuckled.

"Have you made any progress?" Boot asked excitedly.

"Votes, but not names," Ogden replied. "I'll be more optimistic once Dumbledore makes a mistake."

"That happens often enough these days," Smith scoffed.

"Can we slide any blame for any potential Tournament mishaps on him?" Omar asked curiously.

"Only if it's sufficiently bad and I have no intention of allowing it to get to that point," Smith said firmly. "I admit to being a bit wary about the First Task, but unless something unforeseen blindsides us all, I don't think the Tournament is going to hurt the Chief Warlock."

"Pity," Omar answered shortly.

"I have had no success with the Traditionalist Faction at all," Marshall Fawley admitted. "I do get through the door being a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but my inactivity during the war makes some of them wary around me."

"I do not have that problem," Cygnus frowned. "Should I try it?"

"I do not think that is wise," Fawley confided. "Malfoy seems to be warning his followers about dealing with you."

"He's never done that before," Cygnus murmured.

"You never opposed him so openly before either," Shafiq reminded.

"I think it's because of his son," Amelia intervened.

"You mean it's because of his wife then," Shafiq deadpanned.

"Narcissa _would_ be angry about an attack against her son," Cygnus mused. "Well, it is what it is. I doubt we'll have any success with Nott either, so perhaps we should just keep the doors open and stop trying to be proactive on that account."

"On my account, the rank and file members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are almost entirely on our side," Scamander said with a satisfied smile. "It wasn't hard. They are all famously frustrated with the Wizengamot and my surname did open a few doors."

"That is true," Cresswell, who worked under the Department, confirmed. "I saw Cuthbert passing by these days, too. He's retired but still beloved in the Department, and when I spoke with him, he seemed excited to hear about a group concerning itself with Magical Creatures besides wanting to kill or tame them."

"Excellent job," Cygnus said, patting the table with a smile. "We should try to focus on the rank and file of the Ministry more. Creating bureaucracy to stop unwanted legislation is going to go a long way to mess up Malfoy and Umbridge's legislature against Dark creatures."

"Don't look at me," Amelia said with raised hands when the table turned to her. "My Aurors are incorruptible to a man. Even if we have some people with shady political leanings, I can't fire a wand just for believing in Pureblood supremacy; I am a government employee. Unless they advocate outright crimes or don't act on them, my hands are tied and you know it. Also, my Department is Malfoy's and Fudge's entire focus in creating inroads in the Ministry bureaucracy. Until a year ago, I had to deal with Umbridge daily. She destroyed the excellent crop of Improper Use of Magic Office officers we were grooming. As for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office... well, Arthur is a good man, but his family is Dumbledore's."

"I don't know how you dealt with that woman so often without killing her," Hector admitted. He had read enough about the woman's political views and found her distasteful; even a cursory glance at the woman in the Ministry was enough to enrage him.

"It was tempting, believe me," Amelia said dryly.

"Is there no way you can combat their influence on the Magical Law Enforcement Patrols?" Boot asked hopefully.

"No," Amelia sighed. "They are the hardest division to control, honestly. Because the Aurors take so much time to manage, the Patrols don't typically garner attention from the Head of the Department. Operationally they listen to my orders, but in practice their structure is more independent and self-reliant. My office is buried in so much red tape that I can't deal with them directly unless it's an emergency. It's an expectation at this point. If I approach them too much, they'll know something's wrong, and they'll report it back to Malfoy."

"It makes sense," Cygnus mused. "After all, if he can't control the Aurors, having a man in the Patrols is the next best thing for him to know what the DMLE Is doing and where he can or can't be."

"And the Hit-Wizards?" Boot asked again, more resigned this time.

"I already hold a lot of influence there," Amelia shrugged. "But they are almost aggressively non-political, as I'm sure Ogden can tell you."

"It's true," Tiberius sighed. "Almost to a man, the Hit-Wizards are legalistic. My dad used to recruit them specifically to ensure political neutrality and that imposition became so fierce that not even You-Know-Who tried to infiltrate them. Well, he did once."

"What happened?" Cresswell asked, having graduated as the first war ended.

"The Hit-Wizard in question killed the Death Eater trying to approach him and sent the scorched remains to Malfoy Manor," Tiberius said with a straight face.

"Merlin," Cresswell shuddered.

"You do not want to mess with a Hit-Wizard," Amelia confirmed before sighing. "Unfortunately, there's only eight of them currently. Two of which are borrowed from the Department of Mysteries."

"Why weren't they deployed on the riots on the World Cup?" Fawley frowned. "I remember them being deployed in that big Puddlemere riot a few years back."

"You'll never guess who, but we had an anonymous call saying that Black was in Orkney during the day of the game, made directly to the Minister's Office," Amelia grumbled.

"And of course, Fudge would order all of them there without even calling the Aurors to investigate," Fawley sighed.

"Well, the DMLE is out for now, then," Cygnus said with some slight displeasure. He knew that the situation of the Department was dire, but for the entire Magical Law Enforcement Patrols to be potentially compromised was beyond bad. "Please, Amelia, do inquire on how bad things are on the Patrols if you can."

"I can already tell you they're not pretty," Amelia frowned. "There's a reason those two Aurors were in Knockturn a few months back when they got killed."

"I cannot believe that Fudge tried to sweep that under the rug," Hector grumbled.

"I can," Amelia snorted. "The smarmy bastard tried to buy my silence by promising to not erase the funds required to fast-track two candidates from the Academy. I almost cursed him out of my office."

"Did he honestly think that two Aurors dying wouldn't be newsworthy?" Hector asked incredulously.

"You're new here, Hector, but trust me, Fudge's stupidity is surpassed only by his greed," Amelia growled. "But I can't deny one thing: the man is a good politician. He never gets dirt on him directly."

"How is our progress with the other Departments?" Cygnus asked, trying to refocus the conversation.

"Well, you know how the Department of Magical Transportation is," Ogden grumbled. The countenance of the entire room darkened significantly. It was well-accepted amongst government employees during the war that the Department was firmly in Voldemort's pocket, but the Dark Lord was clever enough to have never marked or sent anyone from that Department on raids with Death Eaters. It became a hallmark in his reign of terror that the Floo of his targets' homes were taken off the grid precisely as he raised anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards. The Floo Network Authority was investigated extensively, but even with the help of the Unspeakables, no one ever found out how he managed to create a method to take the Floo down without creating an automatic record on the Ministry's registrar.

"They're off. Is the International Cooperation Department still stuck?" Cygnus asked Fawley.

"I was initially optimistic that Crouch would be too focused on the Tournament and on the fallout from the Quidditch World Cup to notice someone snooping around, but he sniffed me out," the man admitted frustratedly. "Although he hasn't shown his face on the Wizengamot since losing the election, he is well respected enough to have a lot of influence around his Department. The parts he doesn't control firmly are on Dumbledore's side with the ICW."

"His lingering respect from the war is the only reason he hasn't been fired," Amelia complained. "He did a number on the Aurors and was too reckless with the Hit-Wizards. He was so fixated on fighting fire with fire that he did not care about the cost of his operations, morally or physically."

"You disagree with his tactics?" Cygnus asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"You know full well that I am not against Aurors using destructive magic, Greengrass," Amelia glared at the man. "If I were conducting a war, I would certainly not take Dumbledore's approach. But neither would I take Croach's. The man forgot he was a Ministry employee and wanted to be a war hero. He was too weak magically to fight off Voldemort personally, so he used the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards too aggressively, and we lost dozens of men and women unnecessarily. The DMLE still hasn't recovered."

"And we still almost lost the war," Ogden said with a distant gaze. "If it was not for the events of that Samhain, we would not be here. Wizarding Britain should not depend on a miracle to save itself."

A heavy silence covered the room. Some of it was lingering shame - most strongly in Cygnus, who regretted not using his power at the time to help the Light side, despite not sympathizing with the Dark. He had only recently received the Wizengamot seat when the war broke out, and he did not understand that his family's historically grey position did not make them neutral in conflicts. They had fought against Grindelwald, after all. In others, like Ogden, a bonafide war veteran, or Hector, who was beginning his career as a Healer during the war, dark memories were resurfacing.

None were more affected than Amelia Bones, whose entire family was wiped out except for Susan, and who was in the extremely short list of people who had personally fought against Voldemort and survived. She was forever affected by the fact that her entire squad died that day except for her. Perhaps the only people in the country who had more personal reasons to hate Voldemort were Harry Potter, her niece and Neville Longbottom.

"It's our job to ensure it doesn't," Cresswell said softly.

"No," Cygnus disagreed. "It's our job to ensure it doesn't have to."

"I never took you for a dreamer, Cygnus," Shafiq glanced at him sideways.

"I am not under the delusion that we will fix the world and be rid of Dark Lords forever, Omar," Cygnus sighed. "But we can at least ensure that we don't get two truly terrible Dark Lords in the span of half a century anymore."

"Cheers to that," Ogden said softly.

"Should we even ask about the status of the Department of Mysteries?" Fawley asked, bemused. He had been an Unspeakable early in his career and knew there was no chance of truly influencing them. The fact Rookwood had been a Death Eater was truly earth-shattering.

"No, I don't think we do," Cygnus chuckled. "And as we already know how our deal old friend Bagman is doing, I don't think we need to inquire about his Department."

"You do not," Smith said proudly.

"Who was selected as the Youth Representative to the Wizengamot?" Hector asked, not being a proxy yet when the announcement was made.

"Penelope Clearwater," Amelia answered immediately. "Muggle-born."

"Really?" Hector whistled appreciatively. "I bet some people were not happy about that."

"They couldn't do anything about it," Cygnus shrugged. "Not only was the girl eminently qualified, but Malfoy was also still reeling from having to save Crabbe's freedom. He visibly wanted to burn the girl to a crisp, but had to take the loss."

"Is she one of Dumbledore's?" Shafiq asked, almost resignedly.

"She was," Amelia smiled wryly. "Then she was petrified for months, and the Headmaster did not move a muscle to expedite her treatment."

"She was one the kids attacked a couple of years ago?" Omar asked with a hint of sadness. When Amelia just nodded, he sighed sadly. "I'll approach her. Poor girl."

"Excellent," Cygnus said before turning to Cresswell. "Do you have any ideas you want to put forth?"

The man hesitated slightly before Amelia interrupted his thoughts. "You should tell them about what you've told me today," she said firmly.

"Didn't you tell me I need to work on my phrasing?" He asked with a frown.

"You do, but they should listen at least to the information about the source of Gringotts' true leverage," Amelia warned him.

So, Dirk took a deep breath and began articulating about that vulnerability. As he described the monopsony held by the Goblins over hundreds of small families, the expressions on the wizards' faces began to pale, except for Hector. It was not surprising that the son of Newt Scamander would know about the Goblins' culinary restrictions, after all.

"I often wondered why the Goblins only bought herbs but never food from my stocks," Cygnus spoke in a tremulous voice. "I did not anticipate the fact that they were not doing so to keep such large portions of our population as economic hostages."

"Worse still, if we make too many moves in the Wizengamot, we would need to make overtures in their direction, at the very least so they don't stop any political unpredictability by pulling their purchasing power away from the market," Shafiq said faintly.

"We need to approach them now and see what they would want to support fundamental change," Ogden stated pensively.

"Absolutely not," Cresswell said firmly, surprising everyone in the room. "When we approach the Goblins, it needs to be a _fait accompli_. If we even hint we are willing to concede some things to achieve support for economic and political reforms and then fail to take power, it would incite enormous unrest."

"But we cannot reach the power in the government if we don't make promises, and without knowing whether the Goblins would oppose our reforms, we cannot make those promises," Fawley complained.

"It is better than being known as the side that brought about another Rebellion because we were too careless," Dirk retorted, making the other man concede reluctantly.

"We will have to plan for this," Cygnus said quietly. "And we cannot under any circumstances allow for such an enormous part of our population to be so economically dependent on the Goblins without achieving a similar degree of control over them."

Everyone agreed, but they were not as optimistic as just a few minutes prior.

"Do you have any more ideas, Dirk?" Cygnus asked in a wary tone as if he was preparing for another bombshell to be delivered. Taking pity on the man, the Muggle-born just chuckled.

"I do have some ideas, but as Amelia said, I need to organize them better before they mean anything more than the ramblings of a half-mad wizard. In the next meeting, I'll have a document prepared for all of you."

Everyone nodded and left the room shortly after, leaving only Dirk and his texts. He sighed but smiled softly and began taking notes. At least they were making some progress.


	7. Castles or Palaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note: This chapter is meant as a reprieve from the non-stop seriousness of the previous chapters. It should read as a reminder that all the main characters are still developing and have their teenage moments occasionally.

Harry was sitting down in the Gryffindor Common Room, resting his head against the cool wood of the table in front of him. It was early in the morning and he was exhausted. The beginning of his Fourth Year had been much more difficult to endure than he had suspected. So many things had happened so quickly that he barely had time to do anything. His training in Occlumency was going tremendously poorly and he was reluctant to use his meditation incense again so soon after his dream with Death.

Yesterday he had finally received the diary connected with Daphne. They both had spoken briefly to test it out, and the possibility of having a means of communication with the Slytherin would spare him the trouble of sneaking about with the Cloak on an almost daily basis. The days since Snape's departure had been busy, spent coming up with things to ensure that Madeleine would remain safe, that people would integrate between years and that the Dark faction would remain isolated. Yet, his communication with Daphne the past days had also felt stilted and too serious, perhaps as a reflection of the intensive disruption going on in their lives.

In between that and homework, he had very little time for other things. He was even having a hard time focusing on Quidditch, as his mind kept going to other places midway through training. He sighed again, nesting his head carefully in his folded arms and closing his eyes, enjoying the cool temperature of the approaching winter.

Hermione poked him with a sharp quill.

"Oi!" He yelled, rubbing the offended forearm.

"It's too late for you to be this lazy," she huffed before taking a closer look at him, her eyes growing softer. "You don't look so good. Haven't you slept well?"

"I guess you can say that," he smiled weakly before turning a bit more somber. "I'm just a bit worried, I guess."

In all fairness, a large part of his restlessness was because he was spending so much time at night trying to improve his Occlumency and meditating. However, a larger portion of his brain was just tired. There was none of the excitement associated with Salazar last year pumping into his veins and any project to release Sirius would take months, if not years, to finish. The political machinations surrounding his life had become so commonplace that he didn't feel very excited about them anymore. He felt tired from what was already a hectic school year despite it barely beginning.

"What are you worried about?" Asked Ron as he sat down near them. Hermione greeted Ron distractedly before turning back to a pensive Harry.

"This school year is already such a mess," he said sincerely.

"Are your new electives too hard?" Ron asked with a hint of triumph in his voice.

"Harry is doing very well in his new subjects, Ronald," Hermione admonished the redhead before turning back to Harry and frowning slightly. "Although you really should be giving more attention to Ancient Runes."

"I enjoy Runes, but this beginning is too dull," Harry commented idly. "But no, the electives aren't bothering me. There's just so much happening, and I don't know where things are going."

"You aren't excited about the Tournament, then?" Ron asked, somewhat knowingly. Hermione looked at him in confusion, but Harry stared at him with visible surprise. "What? I'm not stupid, you know. There's only one huge thing that you can worry about going on this year."

"Why are you so worried about the Tri-Wizard Tournament?" Hermione asked Harry concernedly.

Harry hesitated and grimaced a bit subconsciously, which was enough for Ron to guess with a darker expression. "You're worried that the same thing will happen to the Tournament that happened with the World Cup Final, innit?"

"How did you know?" Harry asked with some astonishment. His friend's ears shone lightly red, and he looked a bit embarrassed despite himself, but he answered quickly with a shrug.

"You had the same grimace on your face the morning after the attack on the Final," he explained.

"I don't think we're at risk in Hogwarts," Hermione said a bit nervously.

"I'm not so confident," Harry muttered, calling the attention of his two friends to himself. He explained in a low voice. "The past three years at Hogwarts, Voldemort infiltrated the school using a possessed Professor, then that diary and last year both Sirius and Pettigrew infiltrated the castle easily. Sirius might be a good bloke, but he wasn't supposed to get in the school no matter his innocence."

The Trio exchanged wary glances, and Hermione wriggled her hands and bit on her lower lip for a bit before her eyes grew resolute, and she said confidently. "If something happens, we'll be ready. I'm not letting anything happen with you," she said. She barely concealed a wince as she noticed that her statement did not include Ronald in that you to whom nothing should happen, but to her surprise, the redhead did not explode. Instead, he just nodded with equal determination.

"Well, I'm off to breakfast," Ron said when his stomach rumbled. "Are you guys coming?"

Harry looked hesitant, so Hermione answered for both of them. "You can go first, Ron. We'll join you in a bit."

The boy nodded and waved goodbye, walking quickly to the exit.

"Ron and food might be the greatest love story in Hogwarts," Harry chuckled.

Hermione laughed softly despite feeling her heart rate spike slightly at hearing Harry say anything about love. She was happy that he was spending time with her in the Gryffindor Common Room after weeks of his disappearing act. With the corner of her eyes, she saw Lavender and Parvati smile conspiratorially in her direction, the blonde even giving her a subtle thumbs up. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop a small grin from blossoming on my face.

"Harry, if you aren't hungry, what about we go read a bit together?" Hermione asked, resisting the urge to fidget when his green-eyed gaze turned in his direction. "I mean, you should still grab some toast on the way to the Great Hall, or you'll feel weak during our lectures, but I've seen that look in your eyes and I know you'll just play with your food for a bit. So maybe we should just read? I thought you would enjoy it, you liked reading together in Hyde Park and I kind of miss it, so I thought it would be nice. I brought some more Shakespeare plays for us to read if you don't mind because I thought you liked The Winter's Tale, but I have other things too if you don't want to. We can even read something about Runes; I'm sure I can..."

"Hermione! You're rambling," Harry said, laughing. Hermione felt her entire body warming up and she was sure she was sporting a mighty blush on her face. When Harry smiled softly in her direction, she had to focus on not losing her composure despite her growing light-headedness. "I'd love to. You can choose the book and we can read wherever you want."

She smiled widely and ran back to her dorm, hearing Harry's laughter as she went away. When she came back with Midsummer Night's Dream - she quite liked Othello and the Merchant of Venice, but didn't feel they were appropriate - he had his book bag in hand and was waiting for her near the door.

On a reflex, she grabbed his hand and started pulling him forward excitedly, making him laugh even more and squeeze her hand lightly. When he did so, she noticed what she was doing, and her body started to react to the proximity. She felt her legs lose some confidence in their step, her hands began feeling clammy, and she felt her throat dry up. She would bet that her face was also bright red, but she was not sufficiently embarrassed to just let go of the boy's hand. After all, he wasn't complaining, was he?

Some people did a double-take as they passed by, but because Hermione was in front of Harry pulling him along, most didn't give them more than a cursory glance. Still, there was some undeniable amusement in McGonagall's face when they crossed the Scotswoman on their way to the Great Hall, which only made Hermione feel even more nervous.

When they arrived at Gryffindor Table, she picked a couple of pieces of toast without breaking stride and was already walking away despite some people greeting them when she realized she was holding Harry's hand in full view of most of the student body.

Despite the mortification briefly shining through her mind at the thought, she still turned her gaze to the other side of the room to see Greengrass eyeing the couple coolly. Socially awkward she may be, but Hermione had spent enough time around the girl to know that her body was too tense for her to be as indifferent as she portrayed herself. Unable to stop herself and with great satisfaction with her day so far, she shot the blonde a cocky smirk, enjoying as her rival twitched minutely, before leaving the Great Hall.

"Do you want to read outside?" Harry asked curiously as they exited the main building. "Isn't it a bit cold?"

"We won't be able to read outside for the next months," Hermione explained, not giving credence to her secret desire to be held closely again - she did take only one book on purpose, after all. "I'd like to do that while we can."

"Fair enough," Harry agreed before they fell in comfortable silence.

Hermione guided them to a tree near the Black Lake and finally let go of Harry's hand to explore her trusty blue bag. She felt joy surge through her when Harry's eyes brightened, doubtlessly remembering their date. Hermione grabbed the same thin cover she had used for their picnic and further grabbed a fluffy purple blanket to cover them. When Harry raised a single eyebrow at the sight of the blanket, she flushed embarrassedly.

"I brought it from home, it helps me sleep," she admitted, gawking at Harry when he began to laugh. "Hey!"

"It's fine," he kept laughing, avoiding her swats on his arm. "I just think it's cute."

She blushed again and huffed indignantly, but couldn't stop herself from smiling. When Harry sat down on her left side and peered over her shoulder to see the book, their bodies coming close enough together for them to cuddle, she got so sensitive to their proximity that she could swear her heart was trying to secede from her body.

"Midsummer Night's Dream?" Harry questioned amusedly. "A bit out of season, don't you think?"

"He hasn't written Midautumn Morning's Dream, no," she interjected with a kind of dry voice that came automatically despite not belonging to her everyday personality. When Harry swiveled his gaze to meet hers, she grew mortified that she had spoken in that way in this scenario and was already berating herself mentally when he began laughing.

"Good to know," he smiled. "I'll leave it to you to nag William about that failing."

"Are you saying that I nag people, Harry Potter?" She said with narrowed eyes, irritation failing to grow inside her; she was too focused on his playful grin.

"Only in the best of ways," he grinned more widely.

"There are no good ways to be nagging," Hermione insisted with a slight frown.

"Of course there are," Harry said seriously enough that Hermione felt her concentration flag slightly as her mind began to wander. After a while, Harry nudged her playfully on her shoulder. "After all, who else can convince William to write appropriately seasonal books?"

"Wait, did you call Shakespeare William?" Hermione stammered after she calmed down enough from all the close contact to answer.

"He did help name you, after all," Harry said matter-of-factly. "I feel connected to him."

"Prat," Hermione complained despite feeling pleased.

"Are there no embarrassing stories about your parents naming you after someone in this book?" Harry asked, already grabbing the book from her. She had noticed that his reflexes were improving beyond his already abnormally high levels.

"My dad did want to call me Hippolyta for a while, but my mom vetoed that one firmly," Hermione admitted.

"I recognize that name from somewhere," Harry frowned distantly. Hermione watched as his eyes darkened a bit when he focused and remembered Madeleine. She had to find a way to talk with the girl later.

"You might know it from Hercules' Twelve Labors," Hermione mused. When Harry just shrugged and didn't seem to know how to process that information, she wanted to smile. Harry had grown so confident lately that finding something he did not know or held no opinion on was becoming rarer. "Hippolyta was a warrior Queen of the Amazons in Greek Mythology. She appeared occasionally in various myths, but most famously, she was killed by Hercules as he went to retrieve her belt."

Harry cocked his head and analyzed Hermione silently for a while, enough to make his best friend squirm slightly under his gaze.

"I can see you as Hippolyta," he said meaningfully in a distant and slightly dreamy voice. "But I prefer Hermione."

She didn't know exactly how to respond to that sentence but felt pleased nonetheless. She nodded and Harry smiled softly, so that was good enough for her. Nevertheless, she would be re-reading everything she could on the Queen of the Amazons to understand the sentiment.

Harry began reading the book out loud for both of them and soon enough, they were both surrounded by the serenity of the Hogwarts Grounds and each other's companies. Everything was well.

* * *

Everything was not well.

Daphne could not believe that Granger was getting cocky in the middle of the Great Hall just because she was pulling Harry around by the hand. She had achieved nothing.

'Then, why are you so angry?' A voice that sounded like Tracey sounded in her head. Soon enough, the real girl spoke.

"Daphne, calm down," she said softly, leaning over the table.

"Non," Madeleine spoke calmly beside her. Daphne had forgotten the girl sometimes ate with the Fourth-Years following the attack and was startled by the French firstie. "She is not angry."

"What do you mean she is not angry?" Zabini asked with a hint of mocking indulgence. Daphne threw a sharp look in his direction, but he was too focused on the little girl to notice. "Have you looked at her?"

"She is not angry," Madeleine insisted. "She is sad."

Daphne froze, as well as the friends who had heard the conversation. When everyone turned to look in her direction, Daphne failed to hold back a slight grimace. When concern grew on Tracey's face, Daphne felt her stomach drop. This might grow to be a problem.

Mostly because Daphne suddenly found that she couldn't deny what the smaller girl had just said.

She was sad.

That admission alone was perilously close to bringing a whining moan from her throat. It was not part of her plan to make herself emotionally available like this until she was in a position to win with fewer risks. Now she was getting sad because the boy she liked was with the girl who was hopelessly in love with him.

'He spent much more time with you this term,' the confident part of her brain spoke calmly.

'But only when speaking politics, Slytherin or Snape,' another part of her brain reminded her just as calmly.

'You shouldn't have played around with Granger,' Tracey sounded in her mind.

'Hermione,' a mental Madeleine spoke. All the other voices froze just as they had in real life as the French girl spoke her rival's name with the slight foreign twinge that was so characteristic of her. 'You respect Professor Granger, despite everything. You don't think of her as Granger anymore after summer.'

'And this terrifies you,' the second voice concluded.

Daphne wanted to leave. The first voice, the self-assured version of her, the one who had taken Slytherin by storm, grudgingly gained Salazar's respect and made herself essential to the future Lord Black and Potter, reminded her that leaving now would be unseemly. That it would cause too much headache, that Tracey would be on top of her even more, that despite his bravado, Blaise would worry too.

That voice was drowned out by the others. Daphne left, leaving behind a group of friends calling out her name concernedly.

She walked briskly, ignoring all sounds until she had left the Great Hall and was headed back to the Dungeons. Someone's hand grabbed her wrist softly. On edge, angry and frustrated about being more sad than angry and frustrated, she turned already with her wand in hand, snarling menacingly.

Madeleine faced her wand unblinkingly and looked at her with her wide amber eyes. Daphne immediately took her wand away, but not before part of her brain registered that she should feel honored that the girl trusted her enough to not flinch even at wandpoint.

"Sorry," she said softly.

"It's okay," Madeleine nodded. "There's something I want to ask you."

"Of course," Daphne agreed immediately. Despite everything, the girl seemed more hesitant to ask for anything since the attack. Even in her bad mood, she felt relieved that the girl looked better every day.

"With Professor Snape leaving, our Potions lectures are very disjointed," she wrinkled her nose. Daphne suppressed a smile. Only the First-Years and some Slytherins were complaining about Snape's absence and the effect his absence had on his lectures. "Can you teach Potions again, Professor Greengrass?"

"Of course I can," Daphne agreed formally, knowing this approval was important to the Muggle-born.

"Great, I'll tell the others," the French girl said before turning away. Daphne stood there confused before she understood her words and ran after her.

"Madeleine!" She yelled. When she finally reached the girl, she spoke softer. "Miss Tessier, you can't talk to them, remember? It would make things harder for my family."

"Aren't you already speaking with me all the time?" Madeleine asked with a cocked head.

"Well, yes, but..."

"Then what difference does it make?" The First-Year interrupted. "If you already are talking with one Muggle-born, your family would suffer the same as if you were talking with ten. Will you stop talking with me?"

"Of course not!" Daphne said indignantly.

"Good," Madeleine nodded. "Then I'll call the others."

Daphne hesitated briefly, but the firstie just smiled in her direction, her eyes brightening as when she used her magic.

"I know why you're sad, by the way," she said happily. "I think you'd be great together."

Daphne gaped as the smaller girl walked away towards the Great Hall. When she was beyond her line of sight, she grumbled to herself. "And Harry thinks she went to Slytherin just because of me."

Many hours later, all the Muggle-born were sitting together in an abandoned room, bobbing on their heels excitedly. Every single one had missed their lectures over the summer, and they noticed as they racked up points and the admiration of their Professors and peers how good of a job Daphne, Harry, and Hermione had done. The news that they would have a Potions lecture with Daphne was well-received. Some of them had already made a habit of asking things of Harry and Hermione whenever they crossed paths in the corridors, but the truth was that they were so far ahead of most students that questions didn't seem necessary most of the time.

When the blonde Slytherin entered the room, the Muggle-borns cried out in a cacophony of greetings which made her laugh, despite herself.

"Alright, alright, settle down," she smiled, walking to the teacher's desk naturally, already channeling the memories of the summer spent teaching them. "Why don't we begin with you telling me what has happened in your Potions lessons so far?"

"Nothing happened," Thomas Turner grumbled loudly. "The lectures make no sense. Most of the time, we just read the books, but the books are just items."

"Yeah, the books just tell you how to make a potion," Isabella Donelly mused. "They don't teach you Potions."

"I find it interesting that you are making the distinction, Miss Donelly," Daphne said evenly, looking at the Gryffindor interestedly.

"Well," the girl blushed a bit under the older girl's gaze. "Potions is more than just knowing how to brew. There's no theory in the book. It reads like an instructions manual, not an actual textbook."

Some students nodded solemnly. Daphne made a note of asking her father if a holistic book on Potions was written recently.

"Much of what you should know as First-Years, I have already taught you," Daphne said softly. "How exactly can I help you right now?"

"Can't you keep teaching us?" Stephen Stafford asked hopefully.

"I could," Daphne nodded. Truly, she always enjoyed teaching. And if for nothing else, teaching made it a lot easier for her to remember and understand her Potions making. "But if I keep on teaching you as I taught you over the summer, soon we will be on Second-Year material. That would mostly get in the way of your current tests. Would you be interested in a revision?"

"We already have lots of notes from the summer," Dennis Creevey refused, to her surprise. Most students agreed with him by the look of it. "Why don't you teach us more?"

"I'm not sure that continuing as we were is wise at the moment," Daphne mused, already trying to come up with a good lesson plan that would keep them firmly in the First-Year curriculum. Advancing too much would make no sense, particularly because she had no way of testing them to see if they had truly absorbed the material.

"Oh my, Daphne," a voice said amusedly on her left side. "Are you giving up on these enterprising minds?"

Daphne turned to see Harry Potter emerge from underneath his Cloak near the door with a smirk, levitating a closed box. Again, the rain of cheers and greetings sounded as the boy entered the room. She noticed with some passing amusement that the boys seemed to prefer him, and the girls liked her more by the sound of the greetings.

"Harry," she blinked, overcoming her shock quickly. She turned to Madeleine, who was looking at Harry with so much surprise that Daphne almost didn't ask the question. "Miss Tessier, did you mention this lecture to Harry?"

"She did not," Harry intervened, waving his hand dismissively and walking towards Daphne, cautiously depositing the box in the teacher's desk.

"And you know about this, how?" Daphne asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"I have my ways," he winked, smirking widely at the glare the Slytherin sent him. "Anyway, open the box. It's for the lecture."

Daphne opened the box gingerly and, to her surprise, found ten shrunken cauldrons alongside ten basic Potions kits, which included the ingredients necessary to make at least half the First-Year Potions in the curriculum.

"As I'm sure you know, shrinking cauldrons makes them magically reactive, so you're going to need to choose a non-reactive Potion," Harry said agreeably.

"Oooh, are we brewing?" Jessica O'Neill asked excitedly.

"Yes, you are," Harry smiled in her direction.

"I was unaware you were making my decisions for me," Daphne said dryly.

"I am a good decision-maker," Harry shrugged.

"According to yourself."

"If it wasn't for me being a good decision-maker, you wouldn't be here teaching them," Harry said in a sing-song voice, which made some students giggle. "I'd call that a good decision."

Ordinarily, neither of them would engage in their private conversations with the students around, but it had been so long since they bantered without larger concerns that Daphne found she didn't much care for the fact they were giggling at their interaction.

"We both know that I would have strong-armed you into letting me into your project," Daphne said, feigning being unimpressed.

"And I saw the dangers and invited you in beforehand," Harry smiled back.

"A broken clock is still right twice a day," she responded.

"I'll make sure to only make two decisions daily, then," Harry responded agreeably. "This is my first decision."

"I need to think about the appropriate potion," Daphne complained. "You didn't even research a recommendation, did you?"

"Potions and I?" Harry balked.

"Are you not very good on Potions, Professor Potter?" Madeleine asked curiously. The rest of the students look in interest. Daphne noticed that some of them seemed completely in denial at the suggestion that their male teacher was bad at anything about Hogwarts, which she duly noted in her mental list of things she will use to mock Harry in the future.

"Let's just say that Professor Snape and I had our disagreements," Harry and Daphne exchanged a glance. Understanding his intention, Daphne continued.

"Snape had some behavioral issues," she started slowly. "I'm sure you've heard what made him take medical leave in the first place, but he was always very hostile against Harry in particular."

"That's not very nice," Madeleine frowned. Harry smiled indulgently, but Daphne just eyed her speculatively. The fact she had seen through her barriers so quickly showed she was far more perceptive than she let on.

"Regardless, I'll save your day and think of something," Daphne said imperiously, looking down at Harry with her nose raised playfully.

"I appreciate your benevolence, My Lady," he said, bowing deeply to the exact degree one would bow to a Lady of the House. Daphne looked on unimpressed, knowing that he knew exactly how to formally greet her, before sighing despondently.

"You are hopeless," she deadpanned.

"The secret to making Daphne do something for you is to flatter her, but not in an obvious way," he mock-whispered to the class. "I know she's brilliant and wouldn't struggle to think of a non-reactive potion to teach you, but I would never tell her that."

"Aren't you telling her right now?" Olivia Ellis giggled. Harry just shushed her gently, making the girl and some of her friends laugh. Daphne herself just barely concealed a smile using her experience with doing so, but she could already feel her body posture relaxing. With the corner of her eye, she saw that Madeleine was smiling slightly smugly at her. When Daphne raised an eyebrow questioningly, the girl lost her composure and blushed, which was enough to satisfy the older Slytherin.

"Well, enough of your crup show, let me teach them," Daphne shooed him out of the room. Harry seemed unaffected and just smiled prettily in her direction.

"Harry!" Aaliyah Aziz called as he turned to leave the room. When everyone turned in her direction, she seemed a bit discomfited but she soldiered on. "Can you teach us something about Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Is Professor Moody not teaching you well?" Daphne frowned.

"He scares me a bit," she admitted embarrassed in a low voice, gaining some traction when the others seemed to agree with her. "I feel more comfortable learning some things with you if you don't mind."

Harry looked at the hopeful expressions on the students' faces and made his decision. He turned to Daphne with a smirk.

"Shall we make this a double for them?"

"You just want to show off," Daphne countered dryly.

"Me, showing off?" Harry gasped dramatically.

"You are not good enough an actor to be one, Potter."

"I learned everything I know from you."

"There's no need to be this offensive to me," Daphne admonished him, making the boy laugh. She then decided to let her own laughter sound off before turning to the students, who were a mixture of delighted, confused, and - in the case of Madeleine - knowing. "Let's begin."

A couple of hours later, with half their time dedicated to Potions and the other half to DADA, Harry and Daphne sagged against their respective sides of the teacher's table. It had been a couple of minutes since the First-Years had left, but they remained in compassionate silence.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked finally.

Daphne could think of so many answers to that question. She could also think of many questions more. Doubts rang through her mind, making her relinquish her position as an intelligent teenager briefly in place of observing her life as a ghost, from a third-person perspective. From that new pair of eyes, she watched her emotions, her doubts, her pains, her triumphs, and her dreams, and then she watched them again until the walls of Hogwarts crumbled under her ghostly hands and reformed into the Earth, and yet she kept watching, in a cycle of exclamation and question marks that bore fruit only in the strange and twisted way in which our doubts destructively create. It was brief, that second of ringing doubt, but so much happened inside her head that she could never verbalize.

She thought that pain would be the worst thing she could feel in her life, her nightmares populated with the painful grimaces that Astoria always failed to hide, her sister's agonized screams through the Manor as they grew up sounding in her ear, but in that section of her life, she understood the indomitable power behind sadness. Hers was a selfish sadness, a possessive sadness, not born out of loss but out of anxiety. It was silly, for the ghost that watched her, but for the girl that lived inside the sadness was real, and it was daunting and it was endless and it made no sense.

What were they doing? She knew she liked him. She also knew he liked her back, at least enough for their age. She had seen enough of his dazed expression after she kissed him in her mind's eye to know that. So, what were they doing?

It was not what he had asked, though. So it was not what she questioned, not even to herself, even though her mind insisted on reminding her she was being a coward.

"We are building a castle," she said simply after the ghost moved on, and she was back inside of her mind.

"Always thought you were more of a palace person," Harry quipped immediately. She covered a smile with her hand, pretending to wipe her face with her palm.

"I do deserve a palace," she mused thoughtfully, enjoying the snort she received. They exchanged a smirk before she turned away and became more serious. "Palaces are only good in peacetime."

"You feel it too," Harry said firmly.

"Are you asking if I can tell that we are waiting for the dragon to roast us?" Daphne asked rhetorically. "Yes, I feel it too."

"I don't think a lot of us do," he stated softly.

"Who would be the 'us' in this scenario?"

"Children. Students," Harry replied, waving his arm around.

"And are we those things?" Daphne asked with an inquisitive expression.

"We are not adults," Harry affirmed.

"I never said we were," she responded. She watched as he processed her answer before he nodded absently.

"It's shit, being in the middle, isn't it?"

"Knowing too much to be teenagers. Not knowing enough to be adults. You get the pains of awareness without any of its benefits," she intoned.

"But we can keep building the castle," Harry said soothingly.

"It's what we can do. It's not much for now, but brick by brick, we can get there," Daphne agreed. "Power and independence are matters of patience and opportunity, I think. If we keep working, one day we will blink and realize we have a worthwhile legacy."

"I don't like the man," Harry said after a lengthy silence, "but Dumbledore once said something to me that I have thought about a lot today. 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.' I wonder if we're not too focused on the future and losing our present because of it."

"Well, there's no way to tell," Daphne responded with a heavy exhale. "It is tempting to try and skip ahead and peek into what could be, but we have to write our own stories, to the best of our abilities. In the future, we will revisit these days to look for signs of what we missed and we will look at this doubt we share and know the answer then. But right now, we don't."

They stayed staring at each other in solemn camaraderie, both facing the fact they were in a critical juncture and working with insufficient information.

"We are being too serious," Harry complained, with a childish pout. "Tell me about your future palace, Greengrass."

Daphne laughed and started to trade ideas for an appropriate kitchen.

Everything was well.


	8. Turning Point (Part I)

"How is our Lord?" Bertha Jorkins asked when Bartemius Crouch Jr. arrived at her home and removed the hood covering his face.

"He is recuperating," Crouch said shortly.

"Will we follow the original plan?" She asked curiously.

"Are you questioning our Lord's planning?" He asked with narrowed eyes.

"No," she scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. "But I have had no contact with him. Circumstances might have changed."

"Circumstances don't change our Lord's plans," he sneered.

"He would be a fool if that were true," she said calmly. When he snapped his wand in her direction and started growling, she merely glared at the wizard. "What? It is true. Circumstances did change his original plan. Namely, _me_."

"Don't flatter yourself," Bartemius snarled.

"Why are you so hostile toward me, Bartemius?" Jorkins asked curiously.

"I don't trust your loyalties," he replied, carefully retrieving the vial of Polyjuice from his pocket. "And if you weren't so weak, we wouldn't need this contrived gambit."

Bertha's eyes flashed angrily and she glared at the man, but he was unperturbed. It was a fact that he was both stronger and more valuable to the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord is sufficiently satisfied with my loyalty," she jeered back. "Your opinion is meaningless."

"I remember you at Hogwarts," he said in a low voice, looking at her with wide eyes. "Talking with Mudbloods, with no appreciation for the superiority of the Purebloods. I doubt that you've changed."

"I care not for your views on Muggle-borns," she said casually. The lack of derogative had shocked the man more than the sentence itself, but he had yet to respond when she stepped into his personal space. "I don't side with our Lord for _that_. I side with him because he recognized me beyond my reputation for being a ditzy and clumsy idiot. A world that misjudges people as badly as they have misjudged me does not deserve to stand," she said passionately. Bartemius wanted to laugh at the ridiculous statement and the incredible egotism of the woman in front of him, but she plowed on. "Our Lord will grow a new world, a _better_ world. Muggle-born, Half-blood or Pureblood, so many wizards and witches are just sheep, blindly following each other and going nowhere. That will not be tolerated in our new world."

Crouch stared passively at the woman, internally marveling at the ease with which the Dark Lord must have manipulated the woman. Did she honestly believe in what she was saying? Her reasoning was absurd. That had to be the most teenage-esque angst he had ever felt from a grown woman. Teenagers might have made some of the most fanatical followers, but they could also be flimsy and ineffectual. He would need to keep an eye on the woman before the Dark Lord had finished his possession using the ring.

"Should we even be having this conversation?" He asked, already aiming his wand at her temple. "You shouldn't have this memory, in case they look into your head."

"Get that away," she backhanded the wand away from her head and glared at the wielder. "The medi-wizard that wrote my medical clearance was a friend. I told her a sob story about not being capable of reliving the memories of my trauma in Albania and she gleefully wrote down that Legilimency and Veritaserum are not safe to be used on me until further medical clearance. Given how much effort I put into ensuring that everyone in the Ministry would know about my 'condition,' they will not try."

' _Okay, maybe she isn't completely useless,'_ Bartemius thought, somewhat impressed with her foresight despite his reluctance to accept the woman's continued presence. Maybe being ditzy made people discard any suspicions people would have of her.

"Let's get this over with," she sighed. "Stun me, damage me enough for it to be believable, and get a strand of hair for the potion."

Before she could object, he stunned her. At least the next few spells would be enough to satisfy his frustration with the woman's presence. Then, he had an appointment with the Goblet in the Ministry before it left for Hogwarts.

* * *

Powerful men have a complicated relationship with chaos. It is through past chaos that men inherit their power, it is through present chaos that men expand it, and it is through future chaos that they fear to lose it. In a naturally unorderly world, creating order is a sign of power against the whims of human nature. It promotes stagnation, which is always sought by those bestowed with authority. Rites and traditions can preserve long-gone glory and remind those willing to rebel that they are fighting things much larger than men. Like an ominous note in an ethereal piano, they create enough hesitation in any challenger for the challenged to triumph.

In the even more unstable world of wizards and witches, where magic flows oddly and in marginalized characters with sufficient strength for there to be a permanent challenge to those in power, the emphasis on tradition within their hallowed halls is enormous. It was based on a byzantine structure of political power, designed not for efficiency but to present a high barrier to entry. The frivolity and eccentricity of powerful wizards and their institutions are incentivized because they create admiration in the dim-witted, making them tolerant of the uneven hand they are dealt as they focus on the shiny and wondrous things in life. More importantly, they create resentment in the intelligent yet unaccustomed muggleborns, making them scoff and huff and puff about the madness of wizards and witches everywhere, alienating them from the society they want to change for their benefit.

Consequently, it is unsurprising that there is a regimented nature to a Lord's daily business. Meetings of the full Wizengamot are infrequent, but few Lords are men of leisure, even among those who were wealthy enough to do so. In the time they were not scheming for the next meeting, they were drafting legislation, attending subcommittees for limited decision-making, attending trials of various levels of importance, influencing bureaucratic decisions on the lower levels of the Ministry, networking, and running their private businesses. It was truly a busy life, although it did come with many benefits.

The lordly position comes with traditions of its own. Even discounting the many rites and rituals surrounding the Wizengamot itself, Lords typically had a structured day ahead of them when they woke. In the morning, they read the letters they received during the evening hours of the previous day and wrote back any answers that did not require urgent responses - identified by their red seal - for they had answered those already. After breakfast with the entire available family, they spent the early afternoon drafting the letters they would send in the evening. After that, they dealt with their private businesses until lunch, which typically accompanied a meeting with close associates to discuss the day's events. Only after lunch did they begin to interact with other politicians, these interactions often punctuated by tea-time conversations with those they were not closely associated with or from whom they desired to ask a favor of some sort.

For men like Lucius Malfoy, tea meetings were where he made the most out of his time. Powerful men trade in favors and secrets and nothing matched intrigue like Earl Grey. As it stood, he almost always had an important meeting with other Lords or high-profile members of the Ministry or society at large over tea, and then used the hours before supper to capitalize on the information he had gathered. He always found Narcissa waiting for him when he returned; she would divulge all that she had learned on her end, offer advice on what he had heard, and then the two would finish their day with any leisurely activities they could get away with.

Therefore, the fact that Lord Malfoy had sent a red-sealed letter to Lord Greengrass requesting a meeting the following morning and did not inquire for permission was surprising, at face value. Sacrificing the sparse hours he had uninterrupted with Narcissa always got her husband in a foul mood, but unbalancing the Greengrass family was a strategy they had both agreed upon.

A Lady's position - whether she was a Consort of the Lord or Lady in her own right - was similarly beset with expectations and duties. Some more traditional Lords, across the political spectrum, expected women to be servile, but never Malfoy. During the active days of the Dark Lord, Nott had frequently mocked Lucius for the respect and deference he showed Narcissa, an unmarked woman, and one with an admittedly more moderate position than either man. Lucius had challenged him to repeat himself in Bellatrix's presence once and the tauntings had quietened, though the scoffs had remained.

Malfoy made it no secret that he believed that underestimating a witch was the quickest way to fail. After all, despite Antonin being the fastest dueler Lucius had ever seen, and despite Severus being their best spell crafter and having a mastery of Occlumency that even the Dark Lord grudgingly admitted surpassed every other wizard alive, it was Bellatrix who was undisputedly the second most powerful member of their movement. Truthfully, at least Antonin and Bellatrix could have been moderately influential Dark Lords in their own right.

However, both Malfoys cherished this particular part of the expectations regarding the Consort of the Lord. Whenever meetings between Lords happened in a non-neutral territory, the Consort of the hosting Lord would entertain the Consort of the visiting Lord. Narcissa was brilliant at making people confide in her and exploited the human impulse to gossip in order to discover secrets and bubbling problems in their midst. It was she who had first heard of the Greengrass family's recent political movements.

Once more, Narcissa and Lucius agreed to break with tradition and decided that she would not attend the meeting. Taking away the veneer of politeness would make their words sound more threatening and more effective.

Finally, only an hour after dawn, Lucius Malfoy stepped into the floo of his Manor, calmly intoning his destination.

Greengrass Manor greeted him. At the very least, the family had lifted the wards in its floo entrance to grant him passage, a clear sign that they had read his letter.

The first sign that something was wrong was that Eleanor was not there to greet him. Their daughters were in Hogwarts, but Lady Greengrass was supposed to be there if they had indeed read the letter.

The second sign that something was wrong was that there was a house-elf there to greet him. Lucius's failure to get a permanent house-elf after Dobby got his freedom was a point of mockery in high society, and relying on temporary elves was costing him extensively. Greengrass had to know about it, and the insult did not go unseen.

The grip on his cane tightened as the house-elf performed a surprisingly graceful bow.

"Tilly is welcoming Lord Malfoy into Master's home," the elf said with the squeaky voice of all young elves. "Tilly asked for Lord Malfoy to wait here."

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the elf popped away, leaving Malfoy to seethe on his own. Being left alone in a political adversary's Manor would usually be a dream come true for the man, but this felt different. It was an acknowledgment that neither member of the Greengrass considered him a threat, and not a miscalculation about the dangers of leaving him unsupervised.

Lucius felt his temper rise as it usually did whenever he was challenged but kept it in check by analyzing the room. It was not his fault if Eleanor wasn't there to start the Welcoming Rites.

The floo reception in the Greengrass Manor was much smaller than the one in Malfoy Manor. The fireplace was positioned directly in front of two matching green armchairs, one of which seemed like it had been used recently. There were some bookcases to his left, but a closer analysis of the titles showed nothing of particular interest beyond some rare editions of famous books on Potions and Herbology. It made sense, considering the family's origins. Unlike in his mansion, no portraits were spying the arrivals, for there were none in the room. Instead, the room was full of magical decorations, from self-turning globes to fluttering snitches and shiny silver scales. It felt distinctly more homely than the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, but the style of the latter was a necessity, considering how often he hosted political conferences and balls.

He resisted the temptation to turn the armchair around and sit on it after he finished his examination but with every passing second, the urge to conjure an elaborate chair for him to sit increased. Only after he was perilously close to losing his cool did Eleanor arrive cooly into the room. He expected an acknowledgment of his breaking with protocol by looking at the room, but all he got was a raised eyebrow and an impassive and uninterested gaze from the tall witch.

Eleanor met his eyes calmly before doing a smooth curtsey, electing not to show deference by not drawing her skirts away from the ground. Narcissa always did the same. Despite himself, Lucius felt his mouth twitch in amusement.

"Lord Malfoy," she said evenly. Despite the Malfoy Family not being an inherited seat on the Wizengamot - many people had not forgiven him the indiscretions of his youth, regardless of his acquittal - he was the ennobled one, so she greeted him first, despite the Greengrass Family having a permanent seat.

"Lady Greengrass," he bowed politely. Eleanor had always impressed him and her reputation as a master of her craft was well-earned. The Greengrass couple had met at a Potions conference in the continent; Cygnus, the foremost supplier of Potions ingredients and her, a young and promising Potions Mistress. Presumably, Cygnus had fallen for the witch when she had accused him to his face of presenting a danger to British medical patients by not having a native Mandrake farm simply because it was economically disadvantageous, subjecting them to foreign powers. It was something he could imagine Narcissa doing in private, if not in public, so there was something of a fondness by association he felt for Eleanor.

She ended the curtsey and then turned to his cane. Malfoy felt some surprise - few people knew that there was where he stored his wand, but he should have known better than to underestimate Cygnus.

He wordlessly took off his gloves and put them on the woman's waiting hands. Then he slowly spun his cane around once and then put it atop the dragonhide gloves.

"I thank you for your hospitality and show you that I bear no ill," he said robotically, as he had a thousand times before. "I thank you for your magnanimity in allowing me passage through your home."

"Lord Malfoy, I welcome you to our home and bid you good fortune in your endeavors until you leave," she repeated with the same detached tone as she returned his belongings. "Shall we go to the meeting?"

Lucius merely nodded and followed the woman as they walked across her home. As they walked to the corridor, they passed through numerous portraits of descendants from the Greengrass family, but their eyes did not linger on the guest for long. They seemed unnaturally bored.

' _So, Cygnus ordered them not to pry,_ ' Malfoy mused. ' _Or more likely, to not be obvious about it.'_

They walked up a floor before stopping in front of the imperious double wooden doors favored by Lords everywhere, a smaller version of the original Wizengamot's lost entrance.

"Wait here," she stated before walking to the door without a backward glance. As it was an expected visit, barely ten seconds passed by before the woman reappeared. "You may enter."

Lucius acknowledged her with a tilt of his head and walked confidently toward the open doors. When he entered the Lord's office, he faced the third and fourth wrong things that morning.

Firstly, Cygnus Greengrass, ever the polite gentleman, was eating his breakfast in his office, looking at Malfoy as he drank a goblet of pumpkin juice and munched on some cheese and toast. It was enough for Malfoy to confirm that they had anticipated his gambit of breaking protocol and had decided to lean into it themselves.

Secondly, and much graver in the blond man's perspective, Cygnus did not rise when he entered the room. It was a much more blatant break of social etiquette to ignore another Lord's presence, particularly when combined with the casual airs surrounding the Greengrass patriarch as the man faced each other.

Despite planning his disrespect hours prior, Greengrass's casual dismissal of his importance made Lucius's pride roar loudly inside his chest, and before he could hold himself back, he was snarling. "I did not believe you were capable of such a blatant breach of protocol."

"I was unaware this was a protocoled meeting," Cygnus responded cooly.

"What do you mean, you were unaware?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "You are _eating breakfast_!"

"This is the time when I eat my breakfast every day," Cygnus said casually before his face showed the beginnings of frustration. "You were the one who requested a meeting with a set hour without inquiring on my availability under your flimsy interpretation of urgency. I am already waving off my time with Eleanor for your benefit. Speak your piece, or leave."

Familiar anger burst through Lucius's body, although he remained still. Not many had challenged him since his trial and most often it had been but two people: Albus Dumbledore and Amelia Bones. Arthur Weasley had tried to corner him two years previously, leading to Lucius' loss of temper and subsequently that disastrous incident with the Chamber of Secrets. Discovering what his Lord's diary was - and the implication that he most likely remained alive, albeit in a weak state - had led to his largest spike of fear since the trial had ended, by far. He couldn't afford to be led away by his temper anymore.

However, his pride did stop him from ignoring the slight, and he remained still. The two continued their face-off until Cygnus heaved a weary sigh and finally stood. Malfoy nodded stonily, which made his host raise an eyebrow in a shockingly similar manner to his wife's.

"And you complain about me breaking protocol?" Cygnus scoffed.

"I am not breaking protocol," Malfoy replied quickly.

"Are you so eager to have your greatest failing as a patriarch spoken aloud?" Cygnus asked bemusedly. Lucius stilled even further, but the other man plowed on. "We both know that the Malfoy family has lost its inherited position during your tenure, and for all your influence over Fudge, you are yet to regain it. Therefore, you greet first."

"I am the father of the future Lord Black," Lucius said smoothly before lying with practiced ease. "The Black seat in the Wizengamot is inherited. Therefore, you greet first as the host."

"That is a very... liberal interpretation of the greeting traditions," Cygnus commented slowly.

"It is a question that has never been asked before, and I feel like my answer is satisfactory," Malfoy answered. "I am not Nott. I consider myself to hold the most progressive of views, particularly upon previously unanswered matters."

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Cygnus mused. He continued to speak in an odd tone, almost like he was holding back a smile. "The Black Heir is certainly an extraordinary young wizard, is he not?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and thought furiously about what could have happened to give his son such unsolicited praise, but he came up empty. Still, this was something he should speak with Narcissa about later.

"If you believe him to be so extraordinary, then why did you not give my proposal approval?" Lucius asked diplomatically, although the politeness felt forced even in his ears.

"You know me, Lucius," Greengrass smiled thinly. "I pride myself on being well-informed. I came across some information and no longer need your help."

"Doubtful," Malfoy retorted immediately. "I have heard no reports from St. Mungo's about your daughter lately."

"There are other Healers in the country," Cygnus responded, although his posture was far tenser than it had been a second before. It was enough to push Malfoy forward.

"None of them are qualified enough to deal with a curse so old," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "And regardless, the news would have run its course through the medical community." Cygnus stayed quietly staring at him, so Lucius continued his deliberations. "You haven't bought anything from Knockturn Alley, and none of your imports have been out of the ordinary. You haven't left the country. So, even if you had found information on the curse itself, you haven't managed to start preparations to cure it."

In the tense silence that followed the statements, both men were away with their thoughts. While incredibly angry that Malfoy's network of informants was monitoring his movements, Cygnus wanted to smile smugly at the Lord in front of him. Lucius was a proud man, and for all of his political skills, he was utterly unable to recognize the potential of those he considered inferior. He had no connections inside Gringotts beyond the grudging relationship he had with his Account Manager, and he extended the same treatment to Cresswell's Liaison Office, as the man was Muggle-born. The information about a young wizard holding the Black Heir Ring would not reach Malfoy until Cygnus decided to divulge it.

Malfoy's smugness did not go quietly into that night.

"Perhaps we can review the agreement I had sent you previously," he said casually, even though the way he was leaning into his cane like a victorious general communicated his inner triumph. "I'm sure the Black Family will have extensive information on such delicate rituals."

"That is unnecessary," Cygnus said immediately.

"Ah, pity," Malfoy said, leaning forwards and grabbing a cheese curd from the man's plate. "We certainly don't want anything happening to dear Astoria, do we? It would be unfortunate if she was bothered in Hogwarts when she is so close to a treatment."

For the first time, Cygnus's calm façade broke through, and he drew himself to his full height, already palming his wand. Malfoy was a more powerful wizard, and they both knew it. After all, the man had been an inner circle Death Eater. However, Cygnus was not a weak man by any means and he was inside his wards. A fight now would fall in Greengrass's favor, but the fallout would be politically disadvantageous. Despite the obvious threat coming from the man, Cygnus quickly realized he should not have reacted. Malfoy believed he held the aces in his hand with the Black Family inheritance and the wisest move was to allow him to continue with the misconception that he had Cygnus cornered. His pride and protectiveness had blown his chance at catching Malfoy even more unprepared. Shrugging off his irritation, he responded coolly.

"It would certainly be a tragedy if your son was caught in the act again, don't you think? Harming a Muggle-born?" Cygnus tsked mockingly and then smiled at the man's visible anger. "I see you are educating your boy on the family tradition from a young age."

"I don't know why your girl hasn't gone to the DMLE with the identity of the criminal who attacked my son," Malfoy sneered.

"The DMLE?" Cygnus chuckled dryly. "Come on, Lucius. You were a Hogwarts Governor until two years ago. You know as well as I do that Hogwarts is legislated internally, and the DMLE can only enter in the case of a serious crime."

"An attack on a student is a serious crime!" Malfoy barked.

"You were of a different opinion two years ago," Cygnus leaned forward and whispered. "But I'll let Amelia know you think your son should be investigated by her Department for attacking a student. What would Narcissa think?"

"That is different, and you know it," Malfoy snapped.

"Is it now? How come this is different from the attack two years ago? Unless, of course, you mean that the victim is not a Muggle-born this time?" Cygnus asked tauntingly. "Are you sure you are not just like Nott?"

"I see that we will not make progress today," Malfoy said ominously. "I would not make an enemy out of me, Cygnus. It would be inadvisable for your Astoria's continued health."

"An enemy, Lucius?" Cygnus questioned. "I am not your enemy. I am simply not your man."

"Men often find that there is no difference."

"We shall see."

"We shall," Malfoy said before turning away with a flourished spin. "By your leave."

"I'm looking forward to the Wizengamot meeting tomorrow, Lucius," Cygnus said, making the man stop and turn back. "I'm sure there will be interesting developments."

Malfoy ignored him and walked away, but Cygnus could tell he was worried about any additional surprises. Let his imagination run wild. He would never suspect the situation with the Black Ring, regardless.

Cygnus stared passively at the door long after the man had left. Ten minutes later, Eleanor peeked into the room, breaking his concentration.

"Dear?" She asked concernedly. "How was it?"

"I'm not sure," he confided, stepping around the table and approaching his wife. "He is convinced of things that are not true, and some of it benefits us, but some of it doesn't."

"You seem concerned."

"He did threaten Astoria at Hogwarts," he sighed, knowing his wife would get fearful. As he expected, she stiffened immediately, and he could see the apprehension in his eyes. "Don't worry too much. He won't be able to use Draco as his instrument on the school, and Astoria has her protectors."

"Protectors, plural?" She asked finally, after taking comfort in the assurance in her husband's eyes.

"You know who, dear." He said tiredly.

"The Dark Lord?" She gasped dramatically, then grinned at the fond exasperation shining through her husband's face. The tension in the room had cracked enough for them to embrace calmly and ponder the significance of the meeting. Eleanor's voice was firmer when she finally broke the silence. "It's the Potter boy, isn't it?"

"Hm?"

"The one who interrupted the attack on the Muggle-born Slytherin. It was Harry Potter, wasn't it?" She asked, separating herself from the embrace.

"I suspect so, yes," he admitted. "Daphne has written to me about the clique she managed to create around herself, and her list included Bole's son."

"The one who topped the marks of the Sixth Years?"

"The same," he nodded. "His father was a higher up in the Obliviators before he turned into an Unspeakable. I imagined he must have erased the memory of the attacker in Malfoy's son. He is the only one who could conceivably be qualified enough to do so fine a job without risking liquifying the boy's brain."

"Our daughter has chosen him, you know."

"I do," he said seriously.

"He's a good boy."

"How can you tell?" He scoffed teasingly. "You barely talked to him."

"Neither have you," she shrugged. "But I can tell that you like him."

"He's alright, for his age," Cygnus admitted grudgingly.

"You're just hesitant because Daphne wants him," Eleanor chided him. "He reminded me a lot of James."

"I don't see the resemblance," he responded thoughtfully. "Other than physically, of course."

"I was closer to his year in Hogwarts than you," she shrugged.

"Still, I worked with him in the Ministry briefly after his graduation, before the family went into hiding," Cygnus continued in the same tone. "His son is vicious. I can tell. And the injuries inflicted on Draco and his followers are further proof. James Potter was many things, but he was not vicious."

"His mother had a fearsome notoriety," Eleanor remembered. "I did not see much of her until after I graduated, but before she got the saintly reputation she has today, she was well-known in some circles for not being a witch to cross."

"I wouldn't know," Cygnus conceded. "I was a bit too old to notice them in Hogwarts, and I only met James, not his wife."

"Perhaps Harry Potter is his mother's son, or perhaps he is his father's son," Eleanor said. "It would be a worthwhile legacy, regardless."

"True," he nodded. "Daphne could do worse than him, I suppose."

"You'd do well to remember that in a few years," his wife smiled teasingly. "Don't go off on the poor boy when he asks for Daphne's hand."

"Do you really think they are going to marry?" Cygnus asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Call it female intuition," Eleanor smiled. "We'll see, at any rate."

* * *

The dawn of the 31st of October brought great irritation to many people in the Wizarding World. Tom Riddle remembered his greatest failure and his almost-death. Albus Dumbledore felt sorrow for the tough choices he had made in the past. Sirius Black cried for memories that he had nearly lost to the Dementors in years of unjust imprisonment. Harry Potter felt nostalgia for what he never knew after his parents died.

Alastor Moody mainly felt tired.

He never slept well on Halloween after the war. Some people mistook this circumstantial insomnia with paranoia that a fanatic would do something to avenge their master, but a soldier's sorrow had nothing to do with fear of reprisal. Many deaths had punctuated many days, but they all culminated on Halloween. As he couldn't mourn for all he had lost, or else he would not be able to function, his remembrance was condensed in those 24 hours.

And now he had to break tradition with himself and go to the Ministry to escort Bertha Jorkins and the Goblet of Fire to Hogwarts. Why Albus had chosen to host the thrice-damned event was beyond the retired Auror, but he had agreed to serve as added security in case of emergency for the year, so he had to fight through his hesitancy.

As an Auror, he did not have to provide identification via his wand, but he did so anyway. He had grumbled many times to Amelia that they had to switch their security to identify people by their magical signature instead, and she agreed. The Minister stopped his suggestion, saying it would be politically costly to force every employee and Lord of the Wizengamot to cast enough spells for a magical scan to confirm their identity.

Moody thought that political calculations shouldn't be made at the cost of ensuring the continued survival of the Ministry, but everything he spoke was heard through the prism of just being a paranoid bastard.

It was almost like wizards forgot how much shit people manage to do with their magic.

He was waved through the wand scan without it even being tested. He glared at the wand weigher, but the man was too focused on his Daily Prophet to notice.

Grumbling all the way and feeling his back tense as it always did when he was about to get angry, he walked to the meeting point at the Department of Mysteries, where Amelia was speaking with Unspeakable Bode.

"Broderick," Moody greeted gruffly before nodding to his mentoree and then boss. "Amelia."

"Alastor," she responded, although Bode just stared unblinkingly at him. Moody suspected the Unspeakable had found a charm that allowed him to never blink because he did not remember ever seeing the man do so.

"Where is the damned thing?" He asked, looking around.

"Behind the door," Amelia pointed to a door to his right. Without taking his sight away from her, he spun his magical eye to look at where she was pointing. Used to this by now, she just continued. "We're waiting on Jorkins."

"Isn't she supposed to be here by now?" He grumbled. "She works in the building, for Merlin's sake."

"You know how she is," she sighed. "She presumably got better after whatever happened to her in Albania, but she still has her days."

Alastor knew what things lurked about in Albania. Although there was not a complete correlation between the Muggle and the Wizarding World after the Stature of Secrecy, many things carried over between worlds beyond the scope of the ICW and any Obliviation squad. The Ottomans dominated the Balkans for centuries, after which it was politically accosted by the Austro-Hungarian and Russian Empires, in turn. Both World Wars and then Communist Rule had transformed the country manyfold. Although it did escape the fate of its northern cousins in the breakdown of Yugoslavia and the subsequent civil war and genocide, the political instability was enough to create an enormous vacuum in the magical communities of the region. Small countries with complicated histories and a recent penchant for political instability created the perfect environment for lawlessness and lack of supervision of any magical authority. The ICW ensured their magicals did not break the Stature, but there were few if any real obstacles to aspiring Dark wizards and creatures.

He could understand Jorkins being affected by whatever had happened to her. But if she was so clearly impaired by her experiences, she shouldn't be working. Let alone working on a project as important as the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Amelia and Broderick continued their conversation on the current events in the Department of Mysteries, without divulging any details. Yet, Alastor was fully trustworthy in the Director's eyes, something he did not take for granted. The fact he could give insight into security projects with his experience with the Aurors gave him enough credence to glimpse at what they were studying behind their heavy doors, even though it was mostly uninteresting.

Roman Smith appeared from behind them, looking somewhat tired. He looked as prim and proper as ever, but Alastor could tell from how his feet dragged slightly as he stepped forward and from the sag in his shoulders that he did not feel rested. The man had somehow wormed his way into the Tri-Wizard Committee and began making meaningful contributions quite quickly. Alastor was glad that someone else was concerned with security, considering how idiotically focused Bagman was on the spectacle. That didn't make his sudden entrance any less suspicious to the retired Auror.

"Have any of you seen Bertha?" He asked instead of a greeting. Moody noted with his magical eye that Amelia had clued in that something was wrong. Normal Lords of the Wizengamot were already obsessed with being polite, but Smith was in a category of his own when it came to propriety. That he would circumvent his ego to ask something directly was a bad sign.

"We were just talking about her," Broderick stated in his unsettling voice. "Is she not by the Department of Magical Games and Sports?"

"No, I just came from there," Smith frowned before casting a _Tempus_. "She's almost an hour late. We do need to send the Goblet to Hogwarts, with or without her."

"Without Bertha, then," Amelia said firmly. "I'll use this as an opportunity to have an Auror escort the Goblet."

"What I am doing here, then?" Alastor grouched.

"I figured you'd be looking for Bertha," Amelia cocked an eyebrow. "I know you're suspicious, and you won't be able to focus on your job with her disappearance lingering back there in your head."

Moody frowned at being read so easily, but at least Bones knew him quite well.

"I shall go with you," Smith said imperiously. "I need a justification for her breach of responsibility."

Alastor and Amelia exchanged a glance. The pompous prick was back to usual, at least.

"Aye. Can you cast a shield?" Alastor asked, analyzing the man.

"Of course I can!" He responded briskly, before frowning. "Do you believe it will be necessary?"

"There is something wrong here," he grunted, scratching his chin. "I don't like it. Let's go to her office."

"I was just there."

"You're not me," Alastor retorted, already walking to the elevators to go to level seven.

The Lord complained under his breath but followed him nonetheless. They arrived at the woman's office, and after a brief scan with his wand, they entered. Roman wanted to barge into things carelessly, but Moody stopped him with his arm. He looked around the room with his magical eye, finally stopping at a folded document that was heavily charmed.

He narrowed his eyes and went to grab the paper. It was a St. Mungo's evaluation, describing the symptoms with which she arrived at the magical hospital. Heavy exposure to malevolent magic, cursed cuts around her arms and legs, broken fingers, a punctured lung, evidence of forced Legilimency, and minor contact with the Cruciatus was what he glimpsed from the technical and dry language the medi-wizard had used on the document. He scoffed at the idea that anyone can be in _minor_ contact with the Cruciatus but said nothing.

At the bottom of the last page, there was a note hastily written with a different font than the entire document.

' _The patient presents symptoms of classical psychological trauma. She is capable of operating normally on a daily basis but may suffer from the occasional drawback. Magical treatments are ineffective as the problem is now psychological. The patient is prescribed to regular meetings with a Mind Healer. However, any form of magical intrusion on her mind, be it Legilimency or mood-altering Potions, is strictly forbidden until medical clearance. The use of these methods may cause the patient to retreat into her mind to escape the possibility of reliving her ordeal._ '

Alastor grimaced at the last sentence. It was what had happened to the Longbottoms.

He grabbed his wand and started casting verification charms at the document. They all checked out. The document, including the last-minute addition regarding mental intrusion, was signed by a St Mungo's healer.

"Did Jorkins ever comment on her health?" Alastor asked Smith.

"She did mention frequent headaches and sometimes moaned about having to go to the Mind Healer after meetings," the Lord confirmed.

Alastor grunted in affirmation. It was coherent with what the document suggested. Forced Legilimency could do a number on a person's head. It was impressive that the woman had enough wits about her to be functional.

Moody stored his wand and grabbed his staff more firmly. He began chanting subvocally, making Smith look at him oddly. The magic he was casting was beyond his visualization, after all. But for Alastor, who had the benefit of magically sensitive vision, the waves of weak magic he was casting around the room left behind visible trails. More importantly, he could watch as the meaningless and severely underpowered charms interacted with the lingering magic of the room - it was the same logic that guided the magical signature identification he wanted to apply to the Ministry. Bertha, who was a senior member of the Department for some years now, would leave a discernible magical trace on her room as she cast about spells daily, and identifying the majority of the magic lingering in the room would make him know where to look. Namely, at the magic traces not related to Bertha herself.

Something to the right caught his eye. Mentally discarding Bertha's magical signature, he focused his charms on that corner of the room. As he suspected, an abnormally dense signature belonging to another person remained there. Worryingly, he felt something familiar about that magical pattern, but there was something distorted about it.

"Shit," he barked after he figured it out.

"What?" Smith asked warily, already reading the ex-Auror's expression to know that something went wrong.

"Someone was here as recently as yesterday," Alastor said.

"Is that so unusual? She has been in many meetings about the Tournament lately."

"What is unusual is that the person that was here recently used a very strong spell in that corner of the room," Moody said, pointing at the place with his staff. "The kind of strength that a normal witch like Bertha does not have. I faintly recognize the magical signature."

"That is good news, no?"

"No, it's not."

"How come?"

"Think, Smith!" Alastor barked. "Almost every single magical signature I ever studied in detail belonged to a Dark wizard!"

That made the Wizengamot Lord breathe in sharply, but Alastor was not done. Although the retired Auror spoke more to himself than to the man next to him, he spoke loudly enough to be heard.

"I can tell I studied this person. But there is something on the signature that was not there before. It couldn't be; I would have remembered."

"What is it?" Smith interrupted fearfully.

"An impossible amount of exposure to the _Imperius,_ " Alastor summed up gruffly.

Smith paled substantially and used a nearby chair to support himself as his legs wobbled. He looked a lot less chipper about following Moody, but the Auror knew that Roman was more prideful than cowardly. He would keep following him.

Well, another wand was never unwelcomed. If it came to it, at least it would be an additional shield charm. It wouldn't help against the _Imperius_ , but Alastor was immune to it.

"Do you know where she lives?" Alastor asked.

"I know her floo address, but I have no access to her wards," Smith said shakily. "It's _Bertha's Palace_."

Moody snorted at the name but nodded thankfully. He silently turned around and walked away, once again in the direction of the elevators. They rode it to the Department of Magical Transportation on the sixth floor and quickly arrived at the Floo Authority Network Office.

After a firm knock on the door, a tall dark-haired man opened the door quickly and immediately snarled after seeing Moody.

"What are you doing here, Mad-Eye?" The man asked, already half-closing the door.

"I need an address."

"You're retired and have no warrant. Go away," he snarled.

"I might be retired, but I have Bones' ear. I'm not going back to the DMLE just to get permission I'd get in an instant," Moody said firmly.

"Not my problem," the man smirked. "Get back here when you get permission." He tried to close the door in the ex-Auror's face, but Moody stopped it with his staff.

"I don't think so, Wellesley," Moody growled. "Give you enough time to disappear with the registrar? What do you take me for, a rookie? I have a long memory, lad. I can remember all kinds of things I can whisper in an Auror's ear. They don't even need to be true."

The man, Wellesley, hesitated briefly before cursing and opening the door fully. But he walked away before any of the two visitors could ask him anything. Moody tried to follow him, but Smith stopped him.

Roman looked around the room until he found the youngest-looking wizard wearing high-quality clothes he could see. He walked calmly to his table, being careful to keep his gaze down his raised nose.

"Young man," he said with an unnatural amount of pomposity.

The wizard in question turned towards the sound with a frown that cleared as soon as he identified who had interrupted him. He stood there gaping at Lord Smith until the man silently raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction, making the boy flush.

"M-my L-l-lord," he stammered through a rushed bow after violently rising from his seat. Some people in the Department snickered at his distress, but Moody could tell that more than just one or two were openly glaring at Smith.

"Be seated," Smith commanded with a nod. "What is your name?"

"I am Robert Mispel," he said proudly.

"Ah, would that be the Mispel's who migrated from Germany and settled on Suffolk?"

"Yes, sir!" Robert preened.

"Good family," Smith nodded. "I need your help, Mr. Mispel."

"Of course! What can I do for you?" The boy asked bright-eyed.

"I have a Floo address. I need you to tell me its corresponding physical location."

"Do you have a warrant?" The boy asked hesitantly. Smith just threw a thumb over his shoulder to the awaiting Alastor Moody, making Robert gulp dryly. "What is the address, sir?"

" _Bertha's Palace_."

The boy blinked at the odd name, making Smith frown.

"I didn't name it, young man. Get on with it," he snapped.

"O-o-of course, sir, sorry, sir!" The boy blushed and looked at his registrar. After finding the proper place, he wrote it down with a trembling hand and handed it to Smith, who spared it a glance before pocketing it. He thanked the boy politely and turned, leaving the office after handing Moody the piece of parchment.

"That was not bad," Alastor acknowledged gruffly.

"You know how the Floo Authority is," Smith shrugged, though he was walking with his head held slightly higher than just before. "If you threatened someone to get the address, it would only antagonize people who already hate both of us. You because you arrested a lot of their friends, and me because I oppose their remaining friends' politics."

Moody grunted in acknowledgment and read the address. She lived in Wales in a mixed community slightly bigger than Ottery St. Catchpole. He had been there before in a case, so he knew the Apparition point. They left without another word until they popped to Wales.

Smith looked a bit out of it when they arrived, but Alastor was patient. Very few wizards could withstand a single Apparition across England to near the outskirts of Swansea. It was over 200 miles, after all. When the man shook his head and looked like he had a clear head, they walked to Bertha's house. Being a mixed community, some wizards recognized the duo, but their clothing was inconspicuous enough to not draw the eye of any Muggles. The scars on Moody's face were more than enough deterrent from a closer examination even if the Notice-Me-Not charms failed, though he felt frustrated that he could not use his magical eye fully without risking breaking the Stature.

Bertha's house was in a quiet place in the town. As is the case with many wizarding homes in mixed communities, there was a hidden side entrance with a Muggle-Repelling Charm, used for Apparition for those who had clearance through the wards.

After raising another powerful Notice-Me-Not Charm just to be safe, Moody grabbed his staff and once more began casting nonsensical underpowered charms to access the wards' strength. He was so startled by the response he received that he cursed loudly, drawing the attention of the waiting Lord Smith.

"The wards are completely down," Moody said grimly. "They fell violently and recently, by the looks of it."

"Merlin," Smith muttured, already drawing his wand. Moody did the same.

They stopped by the door, with Smith already casting a preemptive _Protego_ over both of them. Moody looked at the shield briefly. It wouldn't hold against a strong curse, but those took time to cast. No one would have the presence of mind to use something that strong immediately. He nodded in appreciation and then opened the door with an _Alohomora_.

As soon as the door unlocked, he opened it violently, already stepping into his preferred stance in case the Dark wizard was still inside. Instead, he saw a bound, gagged, and struggling Bertha Jorkins, tied against her chair in the living room.

Smith quickly leaped forward to her rescue when Moody finished analyzing the place with his magical eye and nodded in his direction. Roman set her free with a quick _Diffindo_ before he took off her blindfold. As soon as she turned in the direction of the two men, her hair waved across her face. It was clear that a tuft of hair had been violently cut, not with a spell but with a knife.

"Polyjuice," Alastor breathed in. Smith inhaled sharply, something that seemed to wake up the beleaguered witch.

"Alastor? Roman?" She asked shakily, already tearing up. When Roman nodded gently, she began sobbing. "O-oh, thank Merlin. I was terrified."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Roman asked softly. Bertha started to sob more shakily and shook her head violently to negate the possibility. Alastor grimaced. The woman was going to have a mental relapse if they were not careful.

"Bertha, you don't need to speak about what they did to you," Alastor said soothingly. Most people thought he could never be comforting, but he had been an Auror during a war. Dealing with orphaned children happened with depressing regularity. "But can you describe the attackers?"

The woman looked at him with frightened eyes for a long couple of seconds before she nodded. As she began, her gaze turned vague and vacant. Any sign of life drained from her eyes, and she briefly looked like she had just met a Dementor before she began speaking in a detached voice.

"He was tall, with straw blonde hair and firm, sharp features. And he was so... so fast. I couldn't even trace his movements before I got thrown into the floor. He had an angry expression that distorted his entire face, and he was speaking in this crazed voice," she began tearing up and was shaking with increasing frequency. "When he was casting curses at me, he began laughing, saying he was not going to kill me because it would be too quick..."

The woman started choking on her sobs, and her entire body was spasming out. Any more and she would lose all composure. More unsettling to both men was the fact that during this entire emotional outburst her eyes remained completely lifeless.

Roman grabbed his wand with the obvious intention of casting a calming charm, but he was immediately disarmed by Alastor.

"No mood-altering magic!" He barked. Smith looked confused for a second before remembering the medical imperative and then nodded. Moody turned to the desolate woman and spoke calmly. "That's enough, Bertha. I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell to check if there is anything that needs urgent care before we take you to St. Mungo's. Is that okay?"

It took several minutes for the woman to calm down enough to answer the question, and Mad-Eye thought he would need to ask it again, but she eventually nodded meekly. Despite that, she still flinched when he aimed his staff in her direction.

Before using any diagnostic spells, he decided to check her injuries for the magical signature he had seen in Bertha's office, and sure enough, it was the same wizard.

"It's the same magical signature we saw in her office," Alastor informed Smith, who merely nodded. It was more or less a foregone conclusion.

"W-what do you mean?" Bertha asked shakily.

"We believe that the man who attacked you used Polyjuice to infiltrate the Ministry," Alastor told her gently. "We saw a hostile magical signature in your office; it matches the one who inflicted your injuries."

Unbidden and unadulterated terror burst into the woman's face, although she was visibly trying to conceal it. It would be an abnormal response, but Moody had seen traumatized victims of violence have the same answer to similar inquiries. The idea of lingering magical energy from your assailant hanging around places you live, or even on your skin, often terrified even the strongest of people. It was particularly frequent in cases of sexual violence.

As soon as that thought appeared on his mind, he cast a discreet diagnostic spell and sighed in relief. At least Bertha hadn't been raped.

After waiting for the woman to calm down, again - it had taken longer this time - Moody began casting diagnostic spells, while Smith talked gently to the woman to ensure that she would remain mentally present.

"None of your injuries are critical," Moody told her lightly. Then he mentally prepared himself for the next part. When dealing when victims of magical violence, it was often best to present the eventual interrogation as a given. "I will speak with Amelia, and I promise that the Auror that will speak with you will not address the injuries you have suffered today directly."

The woman seemed confused but thankful. She had either expected to speak with an Auror already or hadn't noticed it. Regardless, Moody used an emergency portkey to take them all to St. Mungo's, all the while wondering why Bertha had not been killed.

After leaving the woman to the care of the Healers, and after thoroughly informing Tonks on the potential pitfalls in the woman's interrogation, Alastor made his way to Amelia's office, who by that point had been briefed on what had happened.

He rubbed his hand against his face slowly, trying to establish a timeline. "I don't understand why she has been made a target," he confided. "And more importantly, why she is still alive. The perpetrator had to know that the Polyjuice plot wouldn't work twice, at least with Jorkins as the victim."

"I'd wager emotional blackmail," Amelia mused. "They probably want to put the fear of Morgana in the woman to influence her decision-making in some way."

"She works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Amelia," Alastor grouched. "She's not exactly prime political material."

"She becomes valuable depending on the context," she responded. "Considering how we had a Quidditch World Cup Final and the Tri-Wizard this year, her knowledge becomes valuable."

"Aye, I considered that much. But she was a victim of forced Legilimency. Surely, whatever useful information she had stored should have already been captured."

"True, but her death might have changed the validity of the information. Schedules and dates would change, events postponed or outright shunted as an organisers death is investigated," Amelia pointed out. "Once she survived Albania, it was likely that a second disappearance would be seen immediately, as this day has proven. Killing her would be disadvantageous."

"I don't know, Amelia," Moody said warily. "I feel like something is missing from my breakdown of events. And I have the impression that this is bigger than just trying to glimpse into confidential information regarding the Tri-Wizard."

"The best we can do is investigate, Alastor," the Director of the DMLE sighed. "There's nothing more to it."

"Can we think of why she was attacked yesterday, of all days?" Smith asked, from where he had been quietly listening until now.

"Did anyone in the Ministry interact with her yesterday?" Amelia asked thoughtfully. "That may help answer your question, Lord Smith."

"I didn't," the man said dejectedly. "I was preparing for the Wizengamot meeting tomorrow."

The people in the room did not wonder for long on the question before Broderick opened the door and peeked in.

"Amelia, I was instructed to let you know that the Goblet has arrived safely at Hogwarts."

"At least some good news," Amelia sighed. "Thank you, Broderick."

"You're welcome," he said in his ethereal voice. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"There is. Do you know if someone in your Department interacted with Bertha Jorkins yesterday?"

"Oh, I did," he said calmly. Instantly the room felt tenser, and Moody was the first to recover.

"What did you say to her?" He asked, already standing up. Noticing that something had gone wrong, Broderick frowned and opened the door fully, finally stepping into the room.

"We did not speak much. She just wanted to take a look at the Goblet briefly."

Amelia quickly rose to her feet. "Did you let her?"

"Why, yes. She was responsible for it, after all."

"Shit," Amelia cursed. "That wasn't the real Bertha Jorkins. She was attacked yesterday. It was an impostor under Polyjuice."

"That is not good," Broderick said in the same tone of voice as always. "Do you know who attacked her?"

"No, but at least we know why. Something to do with the Goblet. Are you certain that the Goblet in Hogwarts is not a forgery?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, I am," Broderick frowned. "I would have noticed. I admit that I did not examine its magic this morning in detail, but enchantments cling differently to old objects. The difference would have been apparent immediately."

"The attacker cast a single spell in Jorkins' office yesterday. Can you contact someone from your Department and have them send a magical scanner?" Alastor interceded.

"Of course," Broderick said before closing the door and walking calmly back to his floor. The lack of urgency immensely bothered Moody, but he was used to it coming from the Unspeakables.

"Can't you detect the spell used?" Smith asked Moody curiously.

"No," he denied gruffly. "It's been far too long for me to detect anything of that sort with my eye. The Ministry has too much latent magic for even me to know. The Unspeakables have this machine that can tell with the best approximation possible, but even that is subject to error."

"You think they cursed the Goblet of Fire?" Smith asked both of them. Amelia and Alastor exchanged a glance before the former spoke slowly.

"I am not assuming anything until the Unspeakable get here. But it seems the likeliest scenario."

A few minutes later, a small man appeared in the door with sunken eyes carrying a small box. His voice came roughly and weakly when he spoke, like that of someone who has spent their entire lives smoking.

"Where to?" He asked simply. Alastor grunted and began walking with his staff's aid to Bertha's office. At this age, his body was beginning to complain if he stayed on his feet for long, and he could already feel his knee ache, slowing his movement. Despite that, he led the group without visual complaint, though he did not miss Amelia's knowing look.

He fought back the temptation to sit down on Jorkins desk and pointed at the spot in the room where he had felt the attacker's magical signature earlier. The unnamed Unspeakable moved to the designated place and opened the box, tapping it several times with his wand in odd patterns. After half a minute of tense silence had passed by, the man stood and looked at them indifferently.

"I cannot tell you exactly the nature of the magic used here," he admitted. "But it is clear that it is a variant of a standard _Confundus_ charm."

Without waiting for a response from the people in the room, the little man simply collected his box carefully and walked away. Alastor's mind was already running through the potential consequences of someone confounding the Goblet, but Broderick's reaction caught his eye. While Smith's rapidly paling face was a clearer indicator that something was amiss, the Unspeakable's unflappable calm had finally broken, and he seemed visibly distressed.

"Broderick?" Amelia questioned firmly.

"The magic of the Goblet attaches itself to the chosen Champions," he started slowly, his eyes focused on an imaginary point in the distance. "If someone used a localized _Confundo_ on the Goblet, they could alter how the Goblet's magic interacts with any chosen Champion."

"What are the limits to which it could be altered?" Amelia asked grimly. Alastor's mind was full of ringing bells. This was _not_ good.

"Limits?" Broderick asked confusedly. By the tone of his voice, Amelia could already tell that the situation was far graver than they imagined. The Goblet was old, and the exact nature of its enchantments was lost to history. But magic functions in its own way, molding itself in something close to sapience after a while. Some people described Hogwarts as a semi-sapient building, after a thousand years of hosting so much ambient magic. The Goblet, whose age exceeded that of even the castle, worked in the same way. A _Confundo_ charm powerful enough to affect it could influence any chosen students in a myriad of ways.

It could strip someone's magic away. Or more gravely, kill them with it, almost like forcing the champions to drown in their saliva.

They all collectively ran out of the room, directly towards the closest Floo. Amelia's demanding tone as she threw floo powder and yelled at the various floo addresses she could remember in the Hogwarts, but none of them responded. Smith stopped them before they could try again.

"It's no use," he denied, his tone panicked as he thought about a powerful cursed object in the same room as his son. "Hogwarts is having a Feast to celebrate the beginning of the Tournament. None of the staff are going to be outside the Great Hall. There's no one to clear the floo on the other side."

"Three Broomsticks!" the DMLE Director yelled immediately, running through the connection as soon as it flared green.

They all rushed through the fireplace as soon as they could - Alastor's leg had stopped hurting in the adrenaline of the moment. Madame Rosmerta helped Smith up when he fell in his desperation to reach Hogwarts as soon as he could, but her questions about what had happened were left unanswered. Roman threw her a galleon - far too much for the number of floo travelers, but he was unconcerned about that - and ran after the others, who were already sprinting through Hogsmeade towards the school.

By some fortunate circumstance or other, the front gates were not locked when they arrived. Bursting through them impatiently, Amelia ran with renewed resolve. Broderick, who was not used to sustained physical activity, lagged behind them, but both Alastor and Roman were alongside her. The former seemed to have forgotten his physical ailments, and the latter looked as if he was running purely on fumes.

The Great Hall was eerily quiet when they arrived, and there was a strong scent of ozone in the air.

"DUMBLEDORE!" Amelia yelled. "STOP!"

* * *

The students were whispering excitedly across the Great Hall as they waited for Dumbledore to make the necessary announcements. The arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had garnered the required fanfare the previous day, and they all seemed like a decent sort to Harry.

Despite the reputation of the Scandinavian school for affinity with Dark magic and only teaching Purebloods, Harry did not see anything beyond regular school children. They looked more serious than the average Hogwarts student, and their posture had a sort of militaristic flair to it that he couldn't imagine even in the sternest Slytherin, but other than that, they all seemed fine, if a little rigid. He could tell they were speaking German even from across the room, much to the frustration of the Slytherin students trying to cozy up to Viktor Krum. They were loud and aggressively animated, not in the cheerful way Gryffindors were, but in a martial vein that perfectly matched their thick coats and goose step entrance the previous day.

The Beauxbatons students were far more diverse, and it was somewhat surprising to him that they would still be sitting together at the Ravenclaw table. It would take an idiot not to notice that the group lacked the easy cohesion present in the Durmstrang students, and there was tension permeating the many cliques of French and Spanish students in the Great Hall. They may have tried to keep to themselves, and something about their haughty behavior suggested that as a group, they considered themselves superior to the other students, but they also called attention to themselves. Unlike Durmstrang, whose students orbited around Krum, there was no natural leader in the ranks of the Beauxbatons' students, even though there was a Veela who cornered the attention of the entire male population of Hogwarts.

Hermione seemed to detest the girl. Harry could tell that the Veela was somewhat snootily dismissing England as a whole and Hogwarts even more so, but he didn't care much. Her attitude was not so different from the rest of the other students from her school that Hermione's anger was merited. Ron did not know if he wanted to drool more towards Krum or the Veela, and that was more than enough to entertain Harry.

Harry noted with some amusement that while his personality matched Beauxbatons better - after all, he detested the mere idea of regimented militarism, had never been boisterous despite some harboring some nascent mischief, and naturally preferred keeping to himself - his approach to magic was almost certainly aligned with Durmstrang.

Unlike the strength that the Scandanavian school tried to present, Beauxbatons' students moved with elegance and precision. It was easy to imagine them using their magic with the same level of grace. Durmstrang seemed to favor the 'hit them with a sledgehammer' approach to magic, from what he could gather. With his preference towards leaning into his considerable reserves of power, Harry would probably fit well in their ranks.

He wondered how a Beauxbatons Harry would be and how a Durmstrang Harry would be. Despite the overbearing presence of Albus Dumbledore, he figured he preferred Hogwarts. Perhaps because it was the only of the three schools to be divided by House, there was no blueprint to being a Hogwarts student. True, there was a blueprint to being a Gryffindor, but it was not difficult to break that mold.

Hermione was almost the definition of a Ravenclaw, but she was also brave and courageous enough to be a Gryffindor. Harry was impaired with reckless bravery and enough stubbornness to be a Gryffindor, but he was ambitious and crafty enough to be a Slytherin, not to mention his recently discovered mile-wide ruthless streak. Neville had proven to be brave as early as his First Year when he tried to stop the Trio from facing Quirrel despite not being magically capable of doing so, but he was hard-working enough to be a Hufflepuff.

Off the top of his head, he could think of many people who could fit multiple Houses: Susan Bones, Ernest Macmillan, or even Draco Malfoy.

Even the Twins, ever the Lions, often showed enough flashes of cunning and deviousness to not be _pure_ Gryffindors.

There were exceptions, of course.

Daphne was about as Slytherin that a Slytherin could get. While she was not a coward, and she was certainly tremendously intelligent, he could not envision her in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw robes. Tracey, despite the oddly cheerful personality, was similarly well-fitted to Slytherin, what with using her ease with people to have the best-connected network of information in their year. Ron was also a one-House wonder, what with his relentless aggression and blunt approach.

There was also the possibility that Harry was simply not informed enough about either foreign school and that the apparent mold to their personalities was just an illusion. Regardless, he would let the daydreams of transferring to a foreign school die a peaceful death. Still, he found it in himself to be excited about the idea of talking to new students.

Too bad he didn't know French or German.

The Halloween Feast was taking a long time. Unlike previous years, Harry's mourning for his parents did not consume his thoughts extensively, for two reasons. The first was that he was curious about the Tournament, and from the impatient fidgeting from the people around the Great Hall, he figured it was a collective sentiment. The second was that he had figured out a pattern of things going wrong for him on that day.

He didn't know _what_ could go wrong. As Ron said, he did worry a lot about the security implications of the Tri-Wizard. If the World Cup had been as bad as it had been, he couldn't imagine what a similar - or more coordinated - attack at Hogwarts would be like. True, Dumbledore's presence might act as a deterrent from such a direct offensive, but Second Year had more than proven that Dumbledore's personal and political power could be circumvented by a sufficiently determined person.

When the plates finally cleared, the sound of the conversation amongst Hogwarts students raised significantly. Even the disdainful looks from the French contingent had died out in favor of open interest. In contrast, the Durmstrang students had quietened and looked sharply focused.

"I hope Angelina gets in," Fred confided loudly, earning a beaming smile from the dark-skinned witch.

"She's the best choice!" Katie Bell nodded vigorously.

"I don't know," Angelina said hesitantly, but she was fighting a smile. "Cedric also put his name in."

"Diggory is no match for you," Fred said passionately.

"Who else put their names in?" Lee Jordan asked.

"A lot of older Gryffindors did, but the Seventh-Years are not very strong in our House," Alicia Spinnet explained. "I think Diggory is the only noteworthy candidate from Hufflepuff. I know Davies was thinking of putting his name in, but I don't know if he did."

"There was a rumor that Lucian Bole was being pressured to put his name in," Katie said thoughtfully. "But only Warrington tried, from Slytherin."

"Thank Merlin," Angelina breathed in relief. "There's no chance that I would have been chosen if Bole tried out."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He graduated as the top-ranked Sixth Year," she shrugged before shivering. "And after what he did to the Slytherins trying to attack that poor Muggle-born? No, thank you."

Harry felt a bit abashed that his action would inspire that sentiment from the older Gryffindors as they nodded pensively, but he also felt a bit of pride. He had worked hard to become as strong as he was.

"You reckoned he did it?" Alicia questioned.

"Who else could it have been?" Angelina pointed out. "None of the people that got caught on the scene were nearly as strong as he was. I think this rumor about there being a mysterious element is all smoke and mirrors."

"What does smoke have to do with mirrors?" Ron asked, confused.

"It's a Muggle expression," Hermione sighed despondently. Harry smirked at the interplay. The conversation was about to restart when Dumbledore stood, and the Great Hall silenced immediately. The staff was as excited as the rest of the students, although some chairs were empty. Snape had already returned from his medical leave, and his presence was received about as well as Harry anticipated. Alongside the bored Mr. Crouch, the glowering Professor Snape was the only one not visibly excited. Harry frowned at not seeing Mad-Eye anywhere in the room, and both chairs flanking Bagman were empty.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore said. "I ask the students that are called by the Goblet of Fire to please direct themselves towards our excellent Auror companion," a purple-haired girl waved at them with a friendly smile, "she will escort the Champions to where they will receive their first instructions."

With a wave of his wand, the Great Hall was plunged into semi-darkness as most of the candles were extinguished and the blue light of the Goblet intensified. Harry had to concede that Dumbledore was unmatched when it came to setting up a dramatic scene when even he was being drawn by the room's atmosphere.

People began whispering excitedly, and a couple of students checked their watches anxiously, Angelina among them. The flames of the Goblet flared in a colorful red, and a single piece of scorched paper burst forth. The room gasped as Dumbledore caught it nimbly and carefully unfolded the note.

"The champion for Durmstrang Institute," Dumbledore paused dramatically, enjoying the impatient fidgeting. "Will be Viktor Krum."

The contingent of Durmstrang students yelled and raised in thunderous applause, with some pounding their fists rhythmically on the Slytherin table. Krum rose slowly, raised a single fist in triumph, and slouched towards the aforementioned Auror. She nodded in greeting, and he waited patiently by her side.

The clapping died down when the Goblet's fire dimmed before bursting red once more. The second piece of parchment shot violently out of it, with Dumbledore once again catching it smoothly.

"The champion for Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," Dumbledore paused once more. "Will be Fleur Delacour."

The stunningly beautiful Veela rose primly, smiling beautifully the whole time. Harry noticed that many of her fellow students seemed disappointed to the point of tears, which made Hermione roll her eyes. Ron was dreamily looking at the part of the room where both Champions were waiting for the third name before they were escorted to another part of the castle.

The silence that met the Great Hall was significantly more excited this time, as the entire school seemed to lean forwards to hear the name of their Champion. Angelina was tightly holding hands with Alicia and Katie, hoping her name was called. When the third piece of parchment appeared, Harry heard her breath hitch in anticipation.

"The champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore smiled genially. "Is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" Ron yelled, alongside his brothers and many other Gryffindors. Angelina's face fell, and she gave her friends a weak but thankful smile when they showed their sorrow. Fred was frowning upsettingly, while George was staring at the cheering Hufflepuff table with some passing anger. Harry anticipated many pranks in their near future.

"I am sorry it didn't choose you, Angelina," Harry said mournfully. Truthfully, he was hoping his older Quidditch teammate was chosen. It would be fun to cheer for a friend.

"It's okay, Harry," she sighed before smiling a bit. "I like Cedric. He'll be a good Champion."

The applause was by far the longest, and Diggory made a point of bowing down to every table in appreciation. Even the upset Gryffindors eventually commemorated their school's Champion, even though it was not who they wanted it to be. Dumbledore asked for the Auror to wait for a second before turning to the gathered students, presumably because he wished to address them all collectively.

"Excellent!" He said happily, clapping his hands once. "While we have our three champions, I hope that I can count on every one of you, regardless of school, to give all of them the support they deserve. Please be mindful that this Tournament intends to foment international cooperation. Do not allow yourselves to be prisoners of your labels, and mingle among yourselves! It is a unique opportunity-"

Dumbledore was cut off from speaking because the Goblet burned up one last time. Unlike previous times, there was a visible problem - and not only because there were only supposed to be three champions - as the fire burning inside the ancient artifact was much brighter and flared much higher. Harry considered himself a good eye for catching visual expressions, a legacy of his necessity to read the emotions on Petunia's and Vernon's faces, and he had seen the utter shock that briefly made an appearance on Dumbledore's face before he forcefully put on a calm mask.

The Headmaster had no idea what was happening.

 _'So this is what will go wrong,'_ Harry thought with growing dread. The entire room stared confusedly as a fourth piece of parchment floated gently from the very top of the flames before the Goblet of Fire died out completely. When Dumbledore tremulously unfolded the parchment, his eyes immediately met Harry's, and the young wizard felt his fear confirmed.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore whispered in a broken voice through an obviously constricted throat. He cleared his throat and called the name more firmly. "Harry Potter."

As every head in the Great Hall turned to face him, Harry saw, with the corner of his eye, the incredible hurt shining in the Flying Foxes's faces. The Twins were eyeing him in surprise, but Harry suspected it was more because they didn't think he would succeed to fool the Goblet when they had failed. Ron was staring at him open-mouthed, but anyone who had even talked to him could tell that he was about to get into one of his furious moods when his ears started to get red. Hermione and Neville were stunned, but they both shared a sense of unease that came with the certainty that Harry had no idea about what was going on.

For Harry, those seconds were suffocatingly unnerving. He wanted to deny his guilt with facts, but as stunned as he was, his cool quickly disappeared as he remembered the shunning he received during his Second Year. The same energy that shone through him when he began casting more dangerous spells in his training bubbled over his limited control, and this time he did not attempt to hold it back. When he furiously stood, he couldn't even remember giving his legs that order.

Neville's magical discharge, when Snape's medical leave was announced, was like a bonfire. It burned upwards, and though it shined brightly enough to impact those nearest him, it was the Great Hall itself that felt his magic more keenly than any of the students. Harry's magical discharge was as if someone had dropped a stun grenade in the middle of the Gryffindor Table. It burst horizontally across the entire Great Hall, almost knocking the people around him off their seats.

However, unlike Neville's magical discharge, Harry's did not shake the Hall violently. On the contrary, the boy's magic settled more or less peacefully in the room. But no one could ever say that there wasn't anything horribly wrong with the young wizard. The thick smell of ozone that filled the room in one powerful wave was enough to leave everyone nearby completely light-headed, and there was something incredibly ominous about that much magic being dispensed from a boy whose gaze was firmly on the floor. The objects in the Great Hall had stilled to the point of petrification, and every student was looking at the boy in terror.

There were exceptions - some of those who knew had varied reactions. Hermione was scared for her friend, recognizing that something inside him had snapped. Neville was grimly staring at his fellow Gryffindor, knowing from experience that Harry was firmly out of control, and already thinking on how he could make the boy calm down. Daphne, across the room, was nervously remembering the times where Harry allowed himself to be drawn into spells he shouldn't be casting and was worryingly gazing at her friend.

Severus Snape was seething. He instantly recognized the smell from the incident involving his godson, and only through his enormous skill at Occlumency was he managing to keep his magic from flaring up to match the boy's.

Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall were simply worried about their student, but for different reasons. McGonagall was concerned about another Lion, already recognizing the incredible bad luck surrounding the young Mr. Potter. Filius, on the other hand, was thinking about the boy's plans, wondering if this was when, in a moment of anger, he would show his hand too early.

Dumbledore was shocked at the stillness of the magical discharge. It was incredibly tense in the Great Hall, and he could tell that the boy was a hair's away from absolutely imploding with fury. He was not surprised that Harry was as magically strong as the incident made apparent. After all, he had already shown great magical prowess from the Dementor incident the previous year. What bothered him most was that he expected the outburst to be indignantly angry, but the quiet fury emanating from Harry was far more concerning.

He warily considered the best way in which he could defuse the situation when he caught Bagman's brightening expression. Albus only had time to close his eyes and bemoan the man's idiocy before he was proven right.

"A fourth champion!" He gasped delightfully. "How thrilling!"

Instantly, the impact of Harry's magic intensified significantly with a rough _snap_ , as the Gryffindor Table struggled under its weight. The students finally clued into the fact that the situation was dangerous and began to edge away as quickly as they dared. Even Hermione finally stepped away, if only because she was dragged away by a grim-looking Neville.

" _I am not a champion_ ," Harry said in a voice completely unlike his own. He raised his head, and Dumbledore was startled to see that his usually bright green eyes might as well have gone black from how dark they looked.

Well, at least they weren't red.

" _Four years,_ " Harry whispered, heavily throwing his gaze towards Dumbledore. Although the ancient Headmaster could see that his body was beginning to flag under the heavy imposition of its magical discharge, his stare did not falter, and the smell of ozone lingered stronger still. " _I have been in this school for four years, and I am yet to have a peaceful year."_

"Mr. Potter-" McGonagall tried but was silenced as both Harry and Dumbledore swerved their heads towards her. Understanding that this was something the Headmaster wanted to solve himself, the Deputy relented, but she kept her wand trained to the ground just in case she needed to fire off a quick _Protego_.

A minute passed by in a tense confrontation between the two most famous wizards in the room. Dumbledore was tempted to use Legilimency on the boy, but he didn't know if the boy's magic would sense an intrusion, and he did not want to risk the number of innocent bystanders nearby if it recoiled in retaliation.

Finally, Harry spoke softly, but with no less anger.

" _I did not put my name in the Goblet_ ," he denied.

"I believe you, Harry," Dumbledore agreed softly. Some people in the Hufflepuff and Slytherin contingents seemed to be holding back snorts but they were not conspicuous enough, as Harry snapped in their direction and finally let out the first visible sign of anger with a twisted growl. In some sense, Albus was relieved. The quiet fury he had seen until now had been far more disconcerting than a temper tantrum would have been.

Some of the ozone smell dispelled after this, but the situation was still tense.

" _I have no choice, do I?"_ Harry asked in that strange voice again.

"I am afraid not, Harry."

Harry merely nodded defeatedly, though his gaze remained on the Headmaster. Slowly the boy emerged from his rage after giving into the bubbling cauldron of magical energy simmering just below his skin. He sighed heavily and was about to step away towards the tense Champions when a loud noise turned his head.

"DUMBLEDORE!" A woman yelled. "STOP!"

"Amelia?" Dumbledore asked confusedly. "May I ask why you are here?"

Ignoring the man's questions, she took a look at the unlit Goblet and cursed loudly.

"Father?" Zacharias Smith asked, surprised. Roman sent him a strained smile but kept his eyes trained on the artifact.

Alastor looked around, having noticed the smell as soon as he entered the room. It did not take long to realize that the epicenter of this magical discharge was the standing Harry Potter on Gryffindor Table. As he began hobbling towards the boy, both Amelia and Broderick moved quickly towards the Goblet of Fire.

"Has it chosen the champions already?" Amelia demanded.

"It has," Dumbledore nodded. "And the most unusual thing happened. I suppose you are here because of that?"

"It seems so," Amelia said wearily. "What happened?"

Dumbledore merely pointed to the three champions and then to Harry Potter. Broderick sagged slightly in relief that no one had died or turned into a squib, but it went unnoticed by anyone else in the room beside Moody.

"Ah," she responded. "Four, then?"

"I am afraid so," Dumbledore nodded seriously.

"Merlin, this is going to be a nightmare," Smith sighed.

"Will anyone tell me what is going on?" Harry finally demanded somewhat angrily, but his posture showed he was tremendously tired. Dumbledore brightened upon noticing that the boy's voice was back to normal.

Crouch, who had spent the entire outburst glaring suspiciously at Harry, voiced his displeasure likewise. "Yes, that would very much be appreciated."


	9. Turning Point (Part II)

Moody and Amelia exchanged a look, having arrived at the same conclusion immediately. Someone had coerced the Goblet to spit out the Potter's boy name, for some reason, using some version of the _Confundo_. While the event and the means seemed clear, the motive was still unclear to both Aurors. It seemed apparent that by the nature of the attack on Bertha Jorkins, that someone was hoping the Potter boy would die in the Tournament.

However, something was not sitting right with Alastor. Whoever had done this had made this conclusion _far_ too easy to reach. He had talked with Dumbledore about the events in the school in the past few years, and he had seen the number of crimes happening at the edges of society increase steadily after it had plummeted following the war. It wasn't difficult to believe that Voldemort hadn't died after that Halloween. After all, a missing body and a missing wand do not a death make, and their society already celebrated an unprecedented piece of magic that day in the boy's survival of the Killing Curse. Who's to say that another previously impossible magical feat hadn't been achieved that day by the other affected person in the room?

No, until Moody could see the bastard's life fade from his eyes himself, he would always be mindful of the possibility of his return.

Mad-Eye caught a triumphant gleam in Dumbledore's eyes before the Headmaster could shield it from everyone else. He narrowed his eyes. So, the man had reached the _easy_ conclusion: Voldemort was behind this and trying to kill the boy.

If it were any other victim Moody would be inclined to believe it too, but with the Potter boy and the Dark Lord involved, it made no sense. While Voldemort was dramatic - as Slytherins often are, something he could attest to being a graduate of the snake pit himself - the convoluted way in which this plot seemed to flow was not his style.

People often remembered Voldemort for his power, or his cruelty, or his ruthlessness. Those who had been tempted by his call, but declined to join, often remembered his charisma and easy charm. In the Auror Office, the man had garnered a reputation for being an immovable force, easily sweeping away all those around him whenever he made a personal appearance in his raids. Like a wave that could be repelled, but never halted until it pelted away at your defenses and you could no longer resist. What Moody remembered from Voldemort was the man's exceptional intelligence.

By any measure, they were losing the war. They _should_ have lost the war. Those who agree with this judgment on the matter blamed Crouch for being overly aggressive and not thinking strategically (like Amelia) or blamed the Wizengamot and Dumbledore for allowing the wound to fester for too long, only allowing equal retribution until it was far too late (like many of his buddies from the Grindelwald War). And while those were valid points, Moody also recognized the brilliance of the man on the other side of the conflict.

Dark Lords do not have a stereotype. Many are born powerful and are unimaginatively destructive. Emeric the Evil came to mind: an astoundingly cruel wizard who presented a short-lived threat to their society. Those were always the easiest to deal with. Even among the ranks of the intelligent Dark Lords, there is a wide variance in how they operate. Barnabas Deverill was street-smart, using his poor upbringing and wits to reign chaos underground and disrupt the life of the Lords of his day. Herpo the Foul pretty much cornered the mad scientist Dark Lord archetype, with his sharp mind constantly inventing truly evil things out of a desire to further the limits of magic, but Merwyn the Malicious was also a famous case of a wizard whose vast intellect created harmful things. Morgan le Fey, the most famous Dark Lady of all time, was rumored to be the greatest medical Healer ever, in one of those oddities about the medieval period.

Moody still remembered Grindelwald. No one who had fought in that war could forget the man. It was undeniable, even in the halls of Durmstrang where its most famous student was hated with a passion greater than anywhere else, that he was a brilliant man and an erudite one at that. Alastor knew of the friendship shared between _Albus_ and _Gellert_ before they became Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and it was something he could see in his mind's eye. Both men shared the unapproachable quality of those whose mind is always working away at some obscure theory.

But Voldemort was _different_. His intelligence was far less scholarly and more practical. No one who had seen the man fight could doubt that he had an incredibly deep well of magical knowledge - anyone who could earn Dumbledore's respect in that sense was a force to be reckoned. But it was in the way his Death Eaters operated, when they attacked, how they organized themselves, and how much recruiting the man managed to do in front of everyone without anyone being none the wiser, that showed his true intelligence. Moody had lived a long life and had been witness to many great people. A disproportionate amount of those impressive people had turned to the Department of Mysteries.

Contrary to their reputation, Unspeakables were often average wizards in terms of power. In a fight against an Auror, they would have no chance, let alone against a Hit-Wizard. Their weapons are not their wands, but their _minds;_ constantly curious, accumulating and incorporating knowledge from all walks of life, and creating amazing things with alarming frequency. During the war, Moody had acquired a mental image of Voldemort as a man with an Unspeakable's mind, knowledge of Muggle military tactics, the power of Albus Dumbledore, the ruthlessness of a Slytherin alumnus, and the charm of Gellert Grindelwald.

That was an exceedingly dangerous combination.

It was also an indication: if Voldemort was behind this incident, which was admittedly a far-fetched scenario, or at least it would be if Harry Potter wasn't involved, there was no way in hell that he would leave so many crumbs for them to follow. Therefore, there were two possible conclusions: either Voldemort wanted them to know, or Voldemort wasn't the instigator.

Alastor believed that Dumbledore had been truthful about the events of the past three years. The tremendously complicated Oath of Secrecy that Albus had forced on him to speak of them was proof enough, with his knowledge of the Headmaster and his tendency to hoard knowledge like a dragon hoards shiny things. With that in mind, it was probable that Voldemort was behind the attack on Jorkins and the interference with the Goblet of Fire.

But why would he want to be caught? It did work as a shot across the bow against the man's two foremost enemies: his only magical rival and the boy who had mysteriously vanquished him. It had the requisite theatricality of an opening salvo. If one could stretch the mind, it could serve as an offensive in its own right: proof that Dumbledore couldn't protect the Boy-Who-Lived, with the added benefit of a dead national icon.

As far as assassination plots went though, it was an ineffective one. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was dangerous, but there was no guarantee that the boy would die. And even with that final scenario in mind, one in which Dumbledore would end up disgraced by his failure to prevent the assassination of Harry Potter, it would be far easier to achieve with another approach.

If both Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black managed to sneak into the Gryffindor Common Room the previous year, there was no way that _Voldemort_ would not be able to infiltrate the school again, as he had during the boy's First Year, and simply kill him where he stood. If he wanted maximum impact, he could possess someone and murder the boy during breakfast.

Something was amiss. Dumbledore was too distracted with his anticipation that Voldemort was back so that he could finally be struck down for good to notice the inconsistencies with the Dark Lord's _modus operandi_ , but Alastor wasn't. He would keep watch of the boy, but maybe it would be wise to speak with Amelia about the status of the DMLE. Tonks was there, the girl could help with her talents.

"We should go to another chamber," Dumbledore spoke, stroking his beard calmly.

"No!" Potter immediately yelled, before being hit by a wave of exhaustion that sent him trembling back.

"Calm down, lad," Moody said, putting a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. "You spent an unnaturally large amount of magic in your outburst."

"I did?" The boy blinked. Moody nodded. It was common for teenagers to lose control of their temper, particularly in stressful scenarios, and it did cause some minor flare-ups of accidental magic in those studying for their NEWTs, for instance. When in a potentially life-threatening situation, it was not unprecedented for powerful students to have magical discharges, although they rarely reached the levels of Longbottom's, let alone Potter's.

"Aye. You are powerful for your age, boy," Potter flinched when being called _boy_ \- another thing for Moody to note down. "I understand it's hard, but keep your wits about you. Giving in to your anger is the best way to get killed if someone's out to get you."

"Giving in to my anger?" Harry asked tremulously. Moody narrowed his gaze and leaned forwards.

"I can tell that this outburst was not purely emotional like Longbottom's. You decided to not control your temper on purpose," the former Auror whispered.

"How?" Harry stammered out, avoiding his gaze. So, the boy at least knew about Legilimency. That was unexpected. But Alastor did not need any Mind Arts to know how to read a guilty conscience. Plus, he had a magically sensitive eye to rely upon. It did not work perfectly, of course, but it _was_ a perfect excuse to present a conveniently non-replicable proof to what his instincts were telling him, and this was another situation in which it provided the perfect justification. Wordlessly, Mad-Eye pointed to his mad-eye, and the boy flushed in embarrassment.

"Regardless, Dumbledore is right," Moody spoke aloud when he leaned back and straightened out his posture. "This is not the best place for the necessary discussion."

Instantly, the boy's face closed off. He tensed his muscles and looked at the former Auror firmly. "I don't care. I'm not taking the blame for something I didn't do like Second Year just because the adults don't want to cause a panic."

Moody had to control a smirk as he heard the decoded information. It was obvious that _the adults_ could be substituted with _Albus Dumbledore,_ and the sentence would gain even more meaning. It was good - as much as Alastor liked his old friend, he knew that far too many people were blind to his faults, including himself. That the boy had the wherewithal to criticize the man's stingy nature with valuable information proved he had a keen mind behind the famous scar.

"We'll have one of us speak with the students and staff and provide a summary version of what happened," Bones interjected, having heard the tail end of the conversation.

"Are you sure that is wise, Amelia?" Dumbledore spoke, looking around as if the children were too pure for the realities of the world.

"The boy does not deserve to be made a pariah, Headmaster," Amelia said plainly before turning somewhat mocking. "Don't worry about their sanctity, I'll make sure the message is appropriate for their age."

Dumbledore frowned softly, but nodded after taking a long look at Potter. Bones immediately pointed to Smith, and Alastor nodded in approval. Both Aurors would be required in the conversation with the boy, and Broderick was as likely to be inappropriately blunt as he was to be too vague. Smith was a seasoned politician; he could find the best words to ensure everyone knew just enough not to want to alienate the young wizard.

"Let us go, then," Dumbledore said softly. He then turned to the other three champions and smiled apologetically. "I do feel for you, but would you mind waiting here for a bit more?"

"Dumblydoor, I _do_ mind," the French Headmistress, Madam Maxime, said imperiously. "This fourth champion of yours affects _my_ champion, regardless of what else happened."

"I want Viktor and me to be there as well," Karkaroff said, wearing a fixed smile and glacial eyes. "I can't help but notice that you have ended up with _two_ champions, after all."

"I am not a champion!" Harry protested.

"The Goblet seems to disagree, boy," the man snarled. Once again, Alastor noticed the flinch when he was called _boy_ , but the angry tone elicited a much more violent response. Some gears began to turn in his head, and he decided to include yet another thing to his list of things to observe.

"Regardless, Karkaroff, we do need to talk about this," Amelia interjected, her tone hardening as it always did whenever she was in the presence of people she thought should be imprisoned. "So, shall we?"

The man blanched slightly as he remembered who was also present - Alastor and Amelia were a fearsome sight for any Death Eater, acquitted or otherwise, after all - and finally nodded reluctantly. The group fell into step behind Dumbledore as he led them to another adjacent chamber, but Harry noticed that the other champions were giving him wary looks. When he tried to catch Cedric's eye, the boy flinched and looked away. Fleur was measuring him with unsettling fearlessness through her languid gaze, and Krum was frowning and looking gloomily ahead.

The students seemed cowed by the presence of so many adults around them, so no one commented anything as they left the Great Hall in absolute silence. They arrived at their destination and Dumbledore immediately conjured enough chairs for everyone with a distracted wave of his wand. Harry blinked a bit in shock, thinking that conjuring more than a dozen chairs should be hard even for Dumbledore, but apparently not. Dismissing his conjurations, Karkaroff and Maxime both conjured their own, something that was quickly followed by their champions doing the same, albeit resulting in significantly less impressive furniture. As his creations were ignored, Dumbledore dismissed them with another flick of his wand.

Harry sat down and sighed quietly in relief. He was truly spent after what had happened in the Great Hall and could barely function. He wouldn't be awake at the moment if he wasn't so concerned about what was going on.

Alastor lamented the presence of so many people in the room. With this many unaccounted variables, there was no way that Dumbledore would be truthful in his suspicions when they reported all the facts. If the Potter boy was as mindful as he seemed to be, he would also connect the dots and suspect Voldemort, but would likely reach the wrong conclusion.

"Very well, let's begin," sighed Amelia. "Alastor, can you report, please?"

The man nodded and began reciting the day's events. After giving out reports as an Auror for decades, his mouth mostly did the job of describing what had happened while his mind wandered around studying people's reactions.

As he recounted the day's events, he noticed that Maxime and the Delacour girl had winced when he said that Bertha had been found tied and struggling in her home. He made a point to note that she wasn't sexually assaulted, which seemed to calm down both of them. Karkaroff seemed to frown in concentration when the injuries to her body were mentioned, and Dumbledore seemed deeply saddened the entire time.

The students all seemed appalled that something of this scale had happened, but Potter and Krum were the ones who seemed slightly more stoic. The former likely because he felt resigned, and the latter because he had heaps of practice with his poker face due to his fame as a Quidditch player, but Alastor could tell the Durmstrang student was nervous. Diggory had visually flinched when told someone infiltrated the Ministry using Polyjuice - no doubt thinking about his father, working not so far away from Bertha himself - and Delacour opened her mouth for the first to ask, in disbelief, if the British Ministry did not test for Polyjuice infiltrators barely a decade after fighting a bitter civil war, earning her a scathing look from Crouch and a bemused snort from Tonks while Alastor and Amelia shared a resigned look.

The only point in which Dumbledore took more than a passive interest was when Moody spoke about the nature of the magic involved to make Harry Potter's name appear out of the Goblet of Fire.

"A localized _Confundo_ , hm?" He mused thoughtfully, steepling his fingers while resting his elbows on the table. "That is a remarkably complicated spell. It would require a large amount of power to bewitch such an ancient artifact. Whoever our assailant is, we should be on guard. Did that remarkable machine of yours tell anything about the effects of the spell on the Goblet?"

"No," Moody denied. "It could only discern that it was a variation of the _Confundo_. It is possible that the only effect was to spit out Potter's name."

"Vhat do you mean, _possible_?" Krum asked briskly with his heavy accent.

"I mean just that," Alastor said simply. "The Goblet could interact with your magic in several ways once it selected you as champions. The _Confundo_ could alter that connection to the caster's content, as long as his spell was sound and powerful enough."

"I wouldn't fear it too much," Broderick said vacantly when the boy sucked in a heavy breath, and even the other Headmasters seemed distraught about the implications. "If it were something deliberately malignant, I believe Mr. Dumbledore would have noticed it."

"He is correct," Dumbledore confirmed solemnly when people turned in his direction. "While the Hogwarts wards are not as solidly constructed when it comes to detecting Dark objects, something as large and as powerful as the Goblet of Fire would not go unnoticed."

"Just to be safe, I would try to cast spells to see if you still can," Broderick said as if he was just remembering something vaguely important, like needing to buy something at an apothecary. The following few seconds were a stunned silence before all four champions cast a flurry of _Lumos_ spells. "I dare say that you did not need to do that, Harry Potter."

The boy flushed and stared at the table for a bit before speaking hesitatingly. "I am very sorry about that," he sighed and deflated, looking very tired. "I got angry that these things keep happening around me, and I lost control for a minute there."

"One should always strive for calm in all things, Harry," Dumbledore said paternally. "For what it's worth, I do understand your anger, but accepting life's challenges is an important lesson."

Alastor and Amelia both frowned at the wording of the sentiment, considering they did not believe that being chucked into a potentially deadly Tournament against your wishes was not something one should accept that easily. Karkaroff and Maxime seemed to share their opinions, although their reluctance was far more associated with the 'Hogwarts-has-two-champions' bit than anything else.

The latter of the two Headmasters had a contemplative look about her as she turned to the youngest champion and asked. "You said these zings keep happening, non? What exactly do you mean, Mr. Potter?"

Dumbledore tensed, but Harry's reaction was faster than his.

"I'm afraid that's private," he said with a fixed smile.

"Zoo bad," Maxime sighed dramatically. "I thought Britain was supposed to provide you with adequate educational experiences that did not involve such dramatic stakes. Zat is not a problem we have in France."

"Are you trying to poach a national icon, Headmistress?" Crouch asked bitingly. Harry reacted very negatively to being called _a national icon_ , something that caught Viktor's eye. As the other young wizard to whom the epithet had been given, he could understand the reaction. Before that discussion could be had, Alastor pounded his staff firmly against the floor twice in quick succession.

"That is all that I can tell you currently," he grouched before turning to the champions. "If we find out who has attacked Miss Jorkins, you will be amongst the first to know. Please be careful in the next few weeks. Remember that it pays off to practice _constant vigilance_!"

The students nodded carefully, with Diggory mumbling something vaguely thankful.

"We should move to the instructions regarding the Tournament," Bagman said hesitantly. Harry noticed that the previously boisterous man in the Great Hall had wilted a fair bit.

"Yes," Crouch said as if waking up from a daze. "Instructions. Right. The first task is a test of your daring. As such, we will not tell you what you will face. Courage in the face of the unknown is always a good thing for a wizard..."

The man trailed off and looked very uncomfortable for a couple of seconds before loosening up his collar and coughing for a bit.

"The first task will happen on the 24th of November, in front of judges and spectators, with only their wands and wits as recourse. Owing to the time-consuming nature of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, all of you are automatically excused from your regular end-of-year examinations. I believe that is all."

"Yes, I do believe it is," Albus confirmed, looking at Crouch oddly.

"Very well then," the man said, getting up. "I'm off to the Ministry."

Before anyone could protest the decision, the man left the room with surprising speed. The adults shared an amused look before they too formed their cliques.

Harry wanted to greet the foreign champions, but their Headmasters led them away before he could do so. He tried to talk with Cedric, but the Hufflepuff averted his eyes once again. Harry frowned and was just about to ask why his schoolmate was avoiding him, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Harry, Cedric, why don't you go back to your dorms?" He smiled good-naturedly. "I'm sure your fellow housemates want to use this opportunity to make lots of noise, and I'm afraid the conversation from now on will be dreadfully boring."

The Hufflepuff smiled thankfully and left silently. Harry watched him go with a frown, and when he turned to face the Headmaster, the man had already turned his back to start a conversation with Professor Moody and Madam Bones.

Harry sighed defeatedly and started making his way to the Great Hall, which was now deserted.

There was no way in hell he was going to the Gryffindor Common Room right now.

To the Chamber of Secrets he went.

Harry's mind was unusually calm as he made his way to the Chamber. Mostly, he was too angry to be tired, but some indignation still filtered through his mental state. The regularity with which his life was put in danger was far too great for any age, but he was a teenager, with very little in the way of a support network, and with very limited powers to prevent the danger from reaching him.

It was exhausting, in more ways than one. Harry's improvement since he found Salazar was remarkable, and it was clear for anyone to see. But at the moment, he felt so weak against the challenges he had to face that he reverted to the position he was in when he first met the Founder.

One thing he did not expect when he arrived at Myrtle's bathroom was a preoccupied blonde Slytherin waiting for him by the sinks.

"Daphne?" He asked, startled by her appearance. "What are you doing here?"

"Please, Potter," she said impatiently. "It was obvious you were coming here after what happened in the Great Hall."

"Ah. I see."

"You should," Daphne said, her blue eyes softening. "I'm worried about you."

"I think it hasn't registered yet," Harry grouched. "Well, let's get into the Chamber, yeah? We'll talk more there."

The girl nodded, so Harry hissed at the sink and slid down the pathway towards the Chamber of Secrets, walking briskly to Salazar's office as soon as he landed. Before he arrived, Daphne pulled on his Hogwarts robes.

"Wait," she said when he turned with a confused frown. "Before we talk with Slytherin, I want to talk with you alone."

"Okay," Harry nodded tiredly. Daphne picked up her wand and cleaned up a spot in the ground near one of Salazar's statues where they could sit down side by side. Harry sat down heavily, sagging against the cold stone and closing his eyes.

They stood there in compassionate silence for a few minutes, only their rhythmic breathing echoing through the hall. Harry was about to fall asleep right there when his friend spoke again.

"I am sorry," she said softly.

"It's not your fault," Harry sighed.

"Of course it isn't," she responded. "But I can still feel sorry that this is happening to you."

"Thank you."

"What I mean is that I am not sorry _for_ you," she said firmly, making the boy face her for the first time since they sat down.

"Thank you," Harry said with more sentiment this time, making Daphne smile sincerely at him. He felt a bit better knowing she was there for him, but the overall situation still weighed heavily on his mind.

"You seem bothered by something."

"Wouldn't you be?" He asked with some incredulity.

"Of course you're bothered," she rolled her eyes. "But I mean that you seem bothered by something specific, not just generally."

"Oh. I guess I am," Harry frowned. "I can't figure out Cedric's reaction to the Goblet choosing me as a champion."

"How did he react?"

"That's the thing, I'm not sure," Harry frowned. "He avoided my gaze every time I wanted to talk with him, and he never spoke anything for or against me. I would understand him being angry that I'm stealing his spotlight or whatever, but it didn't look like that."

"Oh," Daphne said weakly. "I see."

"You know what it is," Harry accused with narrowed eyes. The girl flinched a bit and finally sighed.

"I do, but you're not going to like it," she said hesitantly.

"Daphne," Harry warned.

"Fine!" She huffed but took his hand delicately, presumably to soften the blow. "Harry, he was scared of you."

"W-what?" He asked, flummoxed.

Daphne sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly before turning to him fully, abandoning her support against the statue to sit in front of Harry.

"Tracey was telling me about how people reacted to what happened in the Great Hall. Not the selection of the Goblet, but your response to it," when Harry understood they were speaking about his magical outburst, he nodded dazedly. "Some people were very uncomfortable with the amount of power you were exerting, particularly the Slytherins, but some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws too."

"What were they saying?" Harry asked with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Some of them were saying you were probably the one that attacked Malfoy and Montague," she said firmly, before assuming a forcefully thoughtful pose that Harry could tell was fake. "But I wouldn't worry about that. Even if the rumors managed to release Bole's obliviation in their heads, Malfoy would never admit to being so strongly defeated by you."

"Daphne, you're hiding something," Harry complained.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" She said, making eye contact.

"Goddamnit, Greengrass!" Harry barked, startling the girl and making her lean back on reflex. "You're one of my closest friends! I know when you're lying!"

Daphne looked abashed, but her pride forced her to keep looking passively at Harry, even if her body posture all but screamed how uncomfortable she was.

"Fine," she breathed after a long silent confrontation. "Some of them were saying you were going to be the next Dark Lord."

Instead of the roaring anger that he expected from this accusation, Harry just felt completely deflated, as if someone had cut off all of his strings.

"Unbelievable," he chuckled mirthlessly. "I didn't even do anything, and they're already accusing me? Imagine when I try to do something. I'll have no chance before the Ministry alienates me, if not worse."

"Harry, they're just school children," Daphne sighed.

"So am I!" He snapped. Then he looked down and felt the weight on his shoulders double. "Merlin, Daphne. I think out of all people in this castle, I would be the least likely to turn into a Dark Lord."

"Don't give credence to their words, Harry," Daphne said softly. "They're afraid. You're a very powerful wizard for your age, and people fear power they don't control or expect."

"It's harder said than done," Harry complained.

Daphne hesitated before sighing and looking at Harry firmly in the eye. "I'm only going to say this now because you need to hear it, Potter. But I don't like doing this. It isn't what I do. I'm arrogantly witty, but still charming. I'm not good at emotional support. Understood?" When Harry nodded confusedly, she continued in a faint voice. "I haven't known you for very long, but I don't think this will be as difficult a challenge as you think. You are a very formidable person, Harry. What you've done in the summer with your own devices was nothing short of amazing. Don't let this be your end. Every great person has to face this eventually."

Harry stared in awe at Daphne for a few seconds as the girl began to fidget under his gaze until he began to smirk.

"So. You think I'm great, do you, Greengrass?" He said smugly. She moaned and covered her eyes.

"Oh, Merlin, I don't deserve this," she complained.

"I don't know about that," Harry said thoughtfully. "Atop my mountain of greatness, I do believe you do."

Daphne grabbed her wand and menacingly pointed at him with a glower, making Harry laugh and raise his hands defensively.

"Seriously, though, Daphne, I appreciate it," he said, smiling. "I think you'll be great too."

"Will be?" She scoffed. "I already _am_."

"Of course, how could I forget," Harry deadpanned.

"How, indeed," she smirked, to which Harry scoffed. They fell in silence again until Harry asked Daphne with a small grin.

"Things will be alright, won't they?"

"No," Daphne said softly. "We'll make them alright."

"Sounds great. Let's deal with the old man, shall we?"

"Honestly, must you be so disrespectful towards my Founder?" She sighed, already getting up to accompany Harry.

"Your reactions amuse me," he smiled, making her roll her eyes. They entered Salazar's office and greeted the Founder.

Recounting the day's events took a fair amount of time. Salazar did not interrupt to ask questions, but the duo took it upon themselves to detail whatever they could in turns to the portrait. Daphne had been surprised to hear about the full version of the incident and completely floored by Harry's suggestion that Voldemort was likely behind the incident in some way. Even more so when Salazar did not disagree.

"Don't you think that the bit about You-Know-Who being alive is something you should have told me?" She hissed furiously when she came back to her bearings.

"To be fair, I'm not even sure that he's alive," Harry defended himself. "The times were I interacted with him the past few years, he hasn't been corporeal."

"That still means he _isn't dead_ , you twit!" Daphne yelled. "This is something that Father should be made aware of! The strategy to take over the Wizengamot completely changes if he's still alive!"

"I thought you agreed that a war was likely to begin again," Harry winced at the look of absolute fury on his friend's face.

"Nothing on the scale of the actual Wizarding War!" She cried out, making Harry retreat. Salazar chuckled, making both teenagers - the frightened one and the furious one - turn to him. The Founder was glad that the Greengrass girl had lost her constant awe around him and was capable of preserving her anger in his presence.

"She is right, Child. You really should speak about him towards those you are allied," Salazar said calmly. Harry, being experienced in hearing the way the man talked, noticed something off about the sentence and immediately noticed that he hadn't mentioned the name _Riddle_ in Daphne's presence.

' _He does not think it's wise to reveal Voldemort's true identity to Daphne,'_ Harry mused. ' _I'll have to check out why later.'_

"Unbelievable," Daphne muttered before sighing. "This will be a difficult letter to write. Thank Morgana that Father had the presence of mind to enchant a notebook that connects me with him. Who else knows?"

"I'm not sure," Harry mused carefully. "Dumbledore, for one. Other than that, I doubt that anyone else is sure, but many people must have their suspicions. I _think_ that Malfoy _thinks_ that Voldemort is alive somehow, but I'm not sure."

"Oh?" Daphne asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Malfoy was tangentially responsible for the incident in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry revealed. "But I don't think even he knew that his actions would unleash a basilisk to attack the students, or he wouldn't have done it, not with his son here."

"I wish you did not speak ill of my companion," Salazar frowned.

"I wish it didn't try to _eat_ me," Harry retorted.

"It was being manipulated," Slytherin protested.

"That does not endear me to the giant man-eating snake," Harry riposted. A hissing sound came from his feet, and he bowed down to see Serena glowering at him. " _Sorry, Serena. Being a snake is not a bad thing, I promise_."

His boomslang just slithered away silently, making Salazar laugh. "You do have a talent of annoying the women in your life, Child."

"Oh, Merlin," Harry moaned silently, paling slightly.

"What is it?" Daphne asked confusedly.

"Hermione is going to _kill_ _me_ because I didn't go to the Gryffindor Tower as soon as I could," Harry banged his head against the table. Daphne's silence just confirmed his future, so he simply sunk even deeper into the furniture before raising his head with a heavy breath. "Fuck it; if I'm going to die, I might as well take my time. What's the plan?"

"I'm not certain, but you need training," Daphne said firmly. "Professor Flitwick said that you are as powerful as a Sixth or Seventh-Year, but you're going up against the best the schools have to offer. To keep up with them, you'll need to work hard."

"You think I should give the Tournament an honest go?" Harry asked curiously. "I was mostly thinking about focusing on not dying."

"I believe it would be wise if you tried to win," Salazar said pensively. "Evidently, the Tri-Wizard Tournament is after my time, but I have read of it in the interceding centuries since my death. Being a winner is a prestigious position."

"It's also a chance for you to get more influence in Hogwarts," Daphne stated. "If you perform better than Diggory, people will more readily follow you and what you say."

"There's also Dumbledore to contend with," Harry grouched. "It's not like I could use curses in this thing without setting off a thousand different alarm bells, could I?"

"That is true," Salazar spoke languidly. "Unless you find a shield with which to deflect his suspicions."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"If you find someone to teach you the curses openly, Dumbledore will blame them, not you," Daphne said, cluing into the fact. "You probably won't be able to use anything particularly destructive, but something like the whips you like to use should be fine."

"Flitwick?" Harry asked curiously, half his head resting on the table.

"I wouldn't implicate someone who is working with us," Daphne replied. "Or else, Dumbledore would look at his movements closer for the following summers."

Harry hummed in agreement and started to think of the possibilities before she spoke again.

"I was thinking about Mad-Eye," she admitted.

"Professor Moody?" Harry frowned. "He's very close to Dumbledore. That wouldn't work."

"I think it might," Daphne insisted. "He might be Dumbledore's friend, but he's also a former Auror and one who famously didn't shy away from using force when needed. He surely knows enough dangerous, but not malignant, magic to teach you, and he is the DADA teacher. He'll be gone next year."

"Those are all good points," Salazar nodded appreciatively. "I cannot say that I know the man, but if he was an Auror during the war, he will likely not share Dumbledore's attitude towards the question of Dark magic."

"He's not only an Auror, but he's also a war veteran," Daphne explained. "He fought in the war against Grindelwald as a young man."

"Really?" Harry asked, his eyebrows flying up. Daphne nodded. "I didn't think he was that old."

"Wizards live longer than Muggles," Daphne reminded Harry. "We don't get that many examples of it in Britain because so many older magicals either died in the two wars we've had in the past century or because they emigrated."

"If he fought in that war, he is surely of a different mind than Albus in matters of the arcane," Salazar spoke firmly. "Approach him, but do not clarify that you want to learn curses. That might be the best strategy."

"Alright, then," Harry nodded.

"Before we move on, I need to touch on a tangential subject," Salazar said, narrowing his eyes as he glared at Harry. "Were you ever going to tell me that you are struggling with your magic when casting dangerous spells?"

"Uhhh," Harry said intelligently, particularly when Daphne turned to him wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

"Do not treat me for a fool," hissed Salazar, and Harry was struck by how much time had passed since he had last made the portrait so irritated at him. "The feeling you got before you had your magical discharge, the uncontrollable rage, is the same thing that you get when you cast something with ill-intent, is it not?"

Harry's fearful silence was enough for the Founder to advance with the same aggravated hissing, but it was Daphne's betrayed look at him not having spoken about this problem with her during the training they did together that made his heart sink.

"You idiot," Salazar continued bluntly. "There is a reason why people lose themselves to magic and call it Dark. It is not addictive by itself, but it rushes to people's minds! You were born with the power to mold reality to your will! You are a powerful teenager. Do you think your mind is ready to accept the fact you can bend things to fit your desire? The more powerful the magic, the harder it is to fend off the temptation. When I tell you that you have to learn Occlumency, do you think it is because I want you to perform parlor tricks? _It's the only way to learn destructive magic this young and not become addicted to power!_

"Let me guess, you are secretly proud of your outburst in the Great Hall, are you not?" Salazar asked scathingly. Harry froze in contemplation at that question. Was he proud? A part of him might be, yes. He knew that no one else in his year would be able to shake the room as he had and that no one else in the school would dare even if they could. As if reading his mind, the portrait plowed on. "You imbecile, **you wet the bed!** That is what an unwarranted magical discharge at your age is! Do you know why Dumbledore hasn't condemned you for that incident, or why he is so unpreoccupied? _He just thinks you're a more powerful tool to play against Riddle now!_ " He finished in Parseltongue.

This time, Harry's temper reasserted itself, and he again felt the beginnings of an uncomfortable rage churning inside him. Instantly the part of a bookshelf behind the two students snapped loudly as his magic burst out of his body again. Daphne was quick enough to cast a _Protego_ to shield them from the splinters but Harry was too busy glowering at the Founder to notice. Snakes appeared out of nowhere to support the fallen books before they could reach the ground, and Daphne raised her gaze to see Salazar and Harry in a fierce staredown.

The Founder broke the silence after a long minute. "Control yourself," he said in an emotionless voice, which only seemed to make Harry angrier. Again the bookshelf moaned under the pressure of the boy's magic, who at that point seemed completely alert, none of his previous exhaustion apparent. "Control yourself, or you lose," warned Salazar. When the anger hadn't left Harry's eyes, the Founder changed to Parseltongue.

" _Control yourself, or you become him,_ " he hissed stonily, which broke through the boy's emotions and finally made his magic die out, even if it was more in horror than with any semblance of control. Daphne watched as life returned to her friend's eyes and sighed in relief, but quickly blinked in shock from how weak and pale he got after hearing whatever it was that Salazar had hissed at him.

"D-do you think that was what happened with him?" Harry stammered nervously after licking his lips. Salazar studied the boy in front of him with a long stare before answering shortly.

"No," he shook his head. "He had an excellent command of the Mind Arts. He did not lose himself to anything. Yet, he chose to go too far. This should be a warning to you."

"I didn't think-"

"Indeed you did not," Salazar interrupted. "Did you think it would be easy? Worthwhile things are never so. And if you had not chosen anything worthwhile, you would not be here in my Chamber. Learning magic is so much more than reading complicated curses in obscure books and training with the magical dummies that the Room of Requirement provides you and that Flitwich has taught you. How can you learn how to shape the world to your heart's content if you do not know your own heart?"

"Should I just not learn new magic until I master Occlumency, then? What about the Tournament?"

"Master Occlumency?" Salazar scoffed. "It takes years, perhaps a decade, to even remotely be considered a master of any branch of magic, but the Mind Arts cannot be mastered, simply explored. The human brain is far too complicated to be understood by itself in its entirety. I am not even entirely sure that you _can_ be an Occlumens, considering how taken you are with your emotions currently." Harry flushed under the heavy gaze he received from Slytherin, but the Founder did not care for his discomfort. "The reality of the past few months is obvious: you overdid it. You got lost in the plot of your own salvation, and you slowly became overwhelmed. And like an _idiot_ , you tried to keep it all to yourself instead of asking for help, believing that you could overcome it."

"Why didn't you tell me anything?" Daphne asked sadly, with disappointment dripping out of every word. "I could have helped. Aren't we friends?"

Harry felt the fight leak out of his bones, and he faced Daphne mournfully. "I'm sorry," he muttered apologetically, looking down. When she was unmoved, he cleared his throat and met her gaze directly. "I am sorry, Daphne. I should have asked."

"You should've," she nodded sadly. "Please don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it, even if it isn't to me. Remember our talk, Harry? Every leader needs an inner circle."

Harry grinned slightly and nodded, which finally made the sad light leave Daphne's eyes, who then grinned back. She turned to Salazar and left her chair. "We'll be in the Room of Requirement for a while. If you must speak with Harry, can you send a snake over?"

"We will?" Harry asked confusedly. When Daphne turned to glare angrily at him, he weakly turned to the amused Salazar. "We will."

"Why don't you come with us, Serena?" Daphne sighed, bending her legs to pet the small boomslang, who coiled around herself around her arm and embraced her softly around her neck like a scarf, from where she stared venomously at Harry. He quickly began hissing a separate apology that his familiar was clearly hesitant to accept. Daphne chuckled, knowing that his discussion with Granger would be _far_ worse than whatever Serena was doing to make him sweat, and began to leave the Chamber.

Their travel to the Seventh Floor was silent. There was no one left in the corridors, the entire school reeling from the events of the selection of champions. Although Harry still consulted the Marauder's Map, it was entirely precautionary at that point.

When Harry started to move across the entrance to the Room, Daphne cut him out and moved to make up a room to her liking. When Harry opened the door, he found himself in a replica of his room back in the summer building at Diagon Alley. He turned to face Daphne with a questioning expression, but she just smiled serenely at him and sat down in the best, taking off her shoes and motioning for him to come next to her. When he hesitantly sat nearby, she rolled her eyes and pulled his head over to her lap, after which she began to play with his hair slightly.

"Daphne?" Harry managed to ask despite his nervousness. She continued to smile at him, but there was undeniable embarrassment shining across her features, even if it wasn't a blush.

"Some time ago, Salazar said something to me that only really sunk in when I saw how stressed out these past weeks have been to you back in the Chamber," she said softly, momentarily ceasing her fussing his hair to look him in the eye. "I got far too enamored with the idea of who you would be and did not concern myself enough with who you are right now. I want to apologize to you for that."

When Harry started to protest, she shushed him gently with a finger. "It's true, and I won't have your platitudes to please me, Potter. Hold yourself to a higher standard. You deserve the best I can offer," she said gently, caressing his cheek softly. "Right here, we can be Daphne and Harry, not Heir Black and Heiress Greengrass, or even Slytherin Greengrass and Gryffindor Potter. Deal?"

Harry smiled softly and leaned into Daphne's hand. The way she was caressing his hair was making him sleepy, and he closed his eyes automatically. "Okay," he said right before he took a well-earned nap.

A few minutes after Harry had fallen asleep, Daphne stopped playing with his hair, and the soft smile disappeared from her face. She looked at the sleeping teenager on her lap seriously and thought about her conversations with Tracey. She closed her eyes and sighed silently, using the magic of the Room to wish for a pillow to appear for her to rest her head as she leaned back.

"I'm falling in love with you, aren't I?" She spoke quietly. When she opened her eyes and saw the sleeping boy on her lap, she smiled sadly. "What am I supposed to do now?"

When Harry did not answer and kept sleeping, she continued softly, resuming her adventures through his hair. "This wasn't supposed to happen now, Harry. But you never want to do things in order, do you?" She traced his lightning scar vacantly across his forehead. "I didn't notice until the Chamber, just now. The idea of you changing into You-Know-Who terrified me beyond belief, and I would do anything to stop that from happening."

She chuckled slightly. "Honestly, you and Salazar underestimate me. As if I hadn't noticed you were speaking about You-Know-Who back there," she said with an amused smile. "I don't know what you're not telling me, Harry, but one day we'll share everything we can. And when that day comes, I'm not letting you go."

She kissed his forehead softly and closed her eyes to rest for a while. It had been quite a tiring day.

* * *

It was nearly two hours later that she shook him awake, her blue eyes sleepy and almost closing.

"Wake up," she murmured, fighting a yawn. "It's been a couple of hours, and I can barely feel my legs."

Harry stammered an apology and sat up, allowing Daphne to finally extend her legs and get rid of their numbness. She breathed in delight when the feeling returned and blearily faced Harry as he spoke to her.

"You should have woken me up sooner," he frowned disapprovingly. "Next time, I won't let you sleep sitting down, it must be uncomfortable."

"Next time?" Daphne smiled smugly, enjoying the slight flush appearing in Harry's face with undisguised triumph. "I didn't know you found my lap to be so comfortable. Then again, I _am_ entirely magnificent."

"Never change, Daphne," Harry said amusedly.

"Why would I?" She gave up the yawn and smiled at him. "I'm entirely magnificent, after all."

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "C'mon, I'll lead you to the dungeons under the Cloak."

"You're not very intelligent, sometimes, are you?" Daphne asked bluntly. Without moving her eyes away from the boy, she pointed to a wall where a door suddenly appeared below a blinking neon sign written ' _SLYTHERIN DUNGEONS_.' Harry turned back to Daphne, who was smirking at him. He huffed and stored his Cloak away, but couldn't keep a smile from blossoming on his face. It was to be expected, after all.

"Was the neon necessary?"

"Necessary?" She asked innocently. "No, of course not. Unnecessary things are the things that make life worthwhile, however."

"I'll keep that in mind when I want to buy you a gift," Harry grinned back. "Neon signs are on the top of my list."

"Don't you dare, Potter," she warned jokingly, laughing at his expression of mock horror. "Will you be going to Gryffindor Tower via magic Room travel?"

"No, I'll delay my execution as best as I can," Harry grimaced. "I need to think for a bit before bed too."

"Alright then," Daphne nodded. "I'll see you later, Harry."

She left for the Dungeons, and Harry sighed, laying down in bed quickly and closing his eyes, committing the feeling of the past few minutes to memory before getting up and walking away from the Room, taking a last glance back at his bedroom before leaving.

He intended to take a long walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. After a few minutes, he was mostly perusing through the castle's secret passages, using the Map sparingly just to ensure that no one would see him. But the patrols on Halloween night were mostly absent, likely on purpose. It was likely that parties were happening until quite late in the House dorms that night. He wondered how the people there had reacted to his disappearing act. Hopefully, they still managed to have some fun.

Harry was tremendously startled when he turned a corner and barely ten meters away from him, the odd blond girl from his Arithmancy and Runes classes - Luna Lovegood, the one with the top marks on several Second-Year subjects - was looking at him with wide, curious silver-grey eyes. She tilted her head to the side before speaking in an almost impossibly relaxing voice, with a slight Irish tinge and a dreamy note to it.

"Hello, Harry Potter," she greeted him. "It is quite late for you to be here."

"Ahn, Luna Lovegood, right?" Harry asked. When the girl just kept on watching him without answering the question, he cleared his throat awkwardly and continued. "Isn't it late for you to be here as well?"

"Oh, I find myself forced to explore the castle at night quite a lot, Harry Potter," she assured him.

"How have you never been found by anyone?" Harry frowned.

"That is a good question," she hummed. "I suspect that wrackspurts are responsible."

"Wrackspurts?" Harry asked confusedly.

"Well, what else could it be?" Luna asked, looking sincerely curious. "I can't think of anything else that would disrupt the Professors so."

"Perhaps," Harry said noncommittally. He was getting a wrong feeling from the girl in front of him, both in the fact that he was not understanding what she spoke, but also because something about her was resonating very negatively with him. He was missing a relevant thing. He could dismiss her ramblings as just another example of the wizarding world being too eccentric for its own good, but the girl had been the best Second-Year the previous year. When he began to analyze the girl, he immediately found something missing, although he suspected it did not tell the full tale. "Luna, is it not too cold for you to be walking barefoot around the castle at night?"

"A bit," she nodded solemnly. "But my shoes seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. I blame the Nargles."

"The Nargles," Harry said absently. After thinking for a while, he asked. "What is the difference between the Wrackspurts and the Nargles, then?"

"Oh, I'm glad you asked," the girls' eyes lit up, and Harry felt more confused than before. He didn't know if she was seeing things he wasn't or simply using some confusing allegory, but he decided to keep as neutral an expression and as open a mind as he could, at least for now. "I won't spoil the detailed reports on the upcoming Quibbler for you, but in summary, the Nargles are very mischievous creatures who tend to frequently steal small objects, or larger ones when they feel bold, while Wrackspurts are small animals that enter people's minds and make their thoughts fuzzy and unfocused," once again, she tilted her head and analyzed him with her eyes. He was mostly sure she had yet to blink for the entire length of the conversation. "I think you were infested with a colony of them today in the Great Hall, Harry Potter. You should think more happy thoughts. It keeps them away."

Harry nodded in appreciation of the advice, even though he wasn't sure of its meaning. However, his mind was elsewhere. At this point, he was fairly sure of two things: someone was stealing the girls' things, including her footwear, and those someones were likely Ravenclaws, which was why she couldn't just go to her dorm. She wasn't joking when she said she was _forced_ to explore the castle. She couldn't get to bed.

Harry felt his temper begin to bubble under the surface, but after his conversation with Salazar he ruthlessly squashed down as strongly as he could. He couldn't occlude for the life of him, so the effect felt mute. Not knowing what to do, he decided to follow the odd girl's advice and began thinking about happy things. Slightly embarrassed that his head immediately went back to the lovely nap he had just taken with Daphne, he felt that growing emotion soften substantially. It was still there, but it was under control.

"That was very good," Luna smiled serenely. "I can see the Wrackspurts floating away from your body."

Maybe the girl _was_ seeing things he couldn't see? Or maybe she was really perceptive, and didn't want to air out her conclusions clearly? Harry felt more confused than before. Where was he again? Right, people were stealing the girl's shoes.

"Can't you do something about these Nargles stealing your things?" Harry asked hesitantly. A flash of something shone in the girls' eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was much flatter than normal.

"I did not say that they were stealing things beyond my shoes." Harry winced internally, trying to salvage the situation.

"You said that they like to steal small things," he explained. "I made an assumption."

The girl frowned slightly at him, once again tilting her head to the side. Was it a nervous tick, or something? "You are a terrible liar, Harry Potter," she said bluntly, which sounded oddly more hurtful in her lackadaisically dreamy voice. "But no, I don't think I could do anything about the Nargles. I am already wearing my charmed Butterbear cork necklace," she said, sounding honestly distressed by the end of the sentence.

Harry, whose sense of helping people had already pinged in the presence of the girl, was now completely beeping that this was something that truly bothered the younger Ravenclaw, so he internally sighed and decided to get to know her. He would talk to Flitwick in the morning and come up with something.

"Tell me more about yourself, Luna," he said softly, indicating for them to sit down on a nearby window sill.

"Most people call me Loony," she said, without a hint of sadness or anger. Just a statement of fact. This completely solidified Harry's suspicions, and he had to focus again to not let his anger show. Ever since that moment in the Great Hall, it had been harder to remain calm. Maybe the fact he had given in that one time had given his magic a taste of something it wanted again? Harry internally shivered at the words Salazar had spoken. The entire situation made him enormously uncomfortable.

"I would prefer to call you Luna, if you don't mind."

"I do prefer my own name," she nodded with her eyes even wider than usual. "But you will get into trouble if you call me by it. It happened with other Ravenclaws in my year."

"I think I'm in a fair amount of trouble by myself, Luna," Harry smiled bemusedly. "I don't mind piling on a little bit more."

The girl stared at him for a while and finally blinked, although it was so quick he would have missed it if her gaze didn't compel him to keep staring back. "The only person who did not call me Loony in Hogwarts is Ginny."

"Ron's little sister?"

"We grew up near each other," Luna said with a wistful expression. "We were closer before school, but she was always nice to me. It was almost like having a friend," that sentence set off all the remaining alarms in Harry's head, and the part of him that had spent a friendless decade underneath the stairs ached beyond his control. "She gets angry when people call me Loony near her. She gets loud when she gets angry."

"That sounds like a Weasley alright," Harry snorted, remembering the glimpse of the fiery temper he had caught sight of when she had struck the twins during the World Cup. He had a hard time imagining the infinitely shy girl he had met having a short temper, but maybe his presence was too much for her. It was quite obvious she had a crush on him. "So, Luna? Do your parents particularly like Astronomy?"

"Oh, I don't know about Mummy," Luna said in a sad voice that instantly told Harry that the woman was dead. He recognized that tone - he wore it every year on Halloween, and every time he thought about Lily Potter.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said mournfully. For the first time, the girl seemed to lose the dream-like quality about her and seemed completely human.

"You would understand, wouldn't you?" She asked seriously. She then spoke with her soft and dreamy voice, although Harry noticed it sounded tenser than before. "Thank you. I am sorry about your mother too."

Harry nodded, and she continued her previous answer. "I know Daddy doesn't care for Astronomy. I'm not named after the moon, of course."

"You're not?" Harry asked, confusedly. She looked at him as if he were a very confused child.

"Of course not. I'm named after the Peverell poem," she said, before assuming a pensive expression. "Although the woman in the poem is named after the moon, so I guess I'm named after the moon, in a way."

"Is the poem well known?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh no, it's very rare," she clarified happily. Harry felt more amused than anything else about how her mind worked, so he just rolled with her unreasonableness for now. "Would you like to hear it? It is called _Luna of the Hallows_."

"Why not?"

" _The plains were green, by war unseen:_

_A father sought to name his daughter_

_He traveled to a mighty stream,_

_To consult the roaring water._

_"Silence did he meet, and so the man's feet_

_Did to England's rolling hills make haste._

_For many passing hours,_

_He smelled the flowers_

_But found their scent erased._

_"The night fell and with a cried lament,_

_He returned home to his daughter_

_Glancing at her sleeping figure,_

_He retreated to his quarter._

_"Through curtains drawn,_

_The moon shone on,_

_And made his daughter richer._

_Luna of the Hallows was born;_

_In the light her skin did shimmer._

_"In Godric's Hollow, the stares did follow_

_Her white skin and flowing red hair,_

_Spells were cast and words left bare_

_But she always said 'tomorrow'._

_"She walked the field when a sudden blow -_

_The ground shook below,_

_A yew blossomed whole_

_And a crow nested in her soul._

_"Birds cawed and crowed,_

_Surrounding Luna's shadow._

_On that night she was Hallowed_

_And left there_

_Dead?_ "

Harry remained silent after Luna finished reciting the poem, feeling as though he had heard something important. Not important personally to the girl, but Important with a capital I. Something about the poem was resonating with a part of his brain that was trying to tell him something else, but it was all too garbled up for him to think of what it could be. He never truly understood poetry, and trying to decipher on the spot was making his head hurt.

It sounded familiar, somehow. Or at least, it sounded like it should be familiar.

Uncaring about his predicament, the blonde girl smiled serenely once again and spoke. "I think it would be best if I go away now," she said, before skipping away. "My job here is done."

"Your job? Luna, wait!" Harry called out, but the girl continued to hop merrily away until she turned a corner and disappeared. "What is going on today? Nothing is making sense." Harry grumbled to himself before sighing and turning in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

While he was mowing around the meaning of the poem in his head, he walked distractedly across the corridors. He hadn't seen anyone until that point in the corridors other than Luna, so he felt confident he wasn't going to come across any Professors. And at the very least, he had a very clear justification for staying out late that night, considering what had transpired with the Goblet.

Yet, when he walked in front of a classroom, he did not expect a hand to appear out of nowhere and forcefully drag him into it, throwing him harshly to the ground. The impact was strong enough that his glasses flew away on impact, making the world a blurry mess he couldn't navigate. He could see a dark-robed tall figure on the door, evidently the person who had dragged him inside, but he failed to make any other features. He drew his wand and tried to move back towards his glasses, but faster than he could trace with his faulty vision, the man silently slashed his wand, and Harry was forcefully thrown into the wall, hitting his back with enough force to almost make him faint.

Luckily, he fell next to his glasses, so at least he could see his assailant. When he put them on, however, he felt far more startled than before.

"Professor Snape?" Harry asked confusedly, his wand already tracing a shaky path to the ground. What was the man doing? He was mean-spirited and a terrible teacher, yes, but he wouldn't attack a student for no reason, would he?

"Do not act so familiar," the dour man snarled. "Who are you?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused and frightened at the intense hatred in the man's eyes. If his interactions with Snape had made the Potion Master's dislike for him evident, it was nothing compared to the glare he was receiving right now. If anything, Snape had greatly hidden his distaste for him.

"You do not fool me!" The man barked, again waving his wand across his body. This time, Harry could see the light racing his way and quickly pivoted out of the way, making Snape look at him surprised before glowering again. "A dueler's movement, and you still try to convince me you're the brat?"

Again, the man used his wand in a ferocious movement, in the very last second changing the direction of his spell from Harry's torso to his feet. Already expecting something to hit his abdomen, Harry was midway through a transition when he noticed the light was making its way to his feet, where it exploded the ground in front of him, sending him tumbling back again, where he hit his head forcefully on the wall.

He felt dizzy and light-headed, and a glance at his fingers after he passed them through his head confirmed his fears - he was bleeding a lot from a head wound, and the Professor showed no signs of stopping the attack. He tried to get into position again, but his feet hurt too much to have the muscle tension necessary to make a pivot on a dime, so he had to find another way to dodge.

"What have you done with Harry Potter?" Snape asked furiously, aiming his wand right between the boy's eyes.

"What are you talking about?!" Harry yelled back. "I am Harry Potter - are you insane?!"

"I told you, you can't fool me!" Snape snarled, casting a fiery spell, making Harry dive to the ground to avoid getting burnt. "The brat is way too much of a do-gooder little shit to do what you have done. I know you attacked Malfoy. I've seen his injuries. Potter couldn't do that in a million years!"

Again, the Professor threw a spell in his direction. Harry couldn't dive from his prone position, but he slid the table in front of him in the way of it and adverted his eyes when splinters flew everywhere. "I didn't do anything! I'm Harry Potter, you madman!"

"You make a good disguise, but you forgot something," Snape said ominously. "When you set off your little show in the Great Hall, I saw your eyes - and they were black."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I've seen the Dark Lord possessing many people. Whenever he used too much magic, the eyes of the possessed person always flashed the Dark Lord's red color," Snape drawled, before his anger reappeared again. "His eyes are the brat's only redeeming feature," Snape snarled at him. "What have you done with him? _What have you done with Lily's son?!_ "

As Snape thundered at him, Harry couldn't help but gape, for two reasons - the first was that his Professor was completely unhinged, for reasons he did not understand, and appeared convinced that Harry was an impostor. The second was that he had referred to himself as _Lily's_ son, when in his entire stay at Hogwarts, he had always been his _father's_ son, with all the negative connotations that implied for the Slytherin Head of House.

Interpreting his silence as confirmation, Snape glowered, and cast another spell silently. Not being able to move and already understanding that the man was trying to hurt him, Harry elected to forego his discretion.

" _Protego!_ " He hissed, and a strong shield shimmered in front of him, absorbing the spell neatly. Snape was sufficiently surprised at the use of Parseltongue to not attack for a second, enough time for Harry to get up and send a spell of his own, aimed at the Professor's neck. _"_ _Diffindo!_ "

A red beam exploded from Harry's wand, but Snape simply shielded it calmly, although the force of the blow was more than he expected - the way his arm ricocheted back when the spell hit his shield told Harry that much. It was a poor consolation prize.

"People always go for the head," Snape said calmly in a voice that sent chills down Harry's spine. "Something that I learned during the war is that it is far from the best place to strike."

The Professor aimed his wand at Harry's head, who instinctively raised a shield to protect it, despite the man's words. Then, he slashed the wand down and sent a white spell careening towards Harry's body, shattering the hastily cast _Protego_ and hitting the boy's liver, just below the rib cage. Instantly, Harry fell into a ball, clutching the injured body part and having a hard time breathing. "The liver is the largest unprotected vital organ in your body. It is also _far_ more painful than a clean hit to the head could be. You lose consciousness too quickly if you hit your head. But, the liver?"

Just when Harry gained back control of his body, Snape cast another spell that hit him in the same area, and he felt his mind go blank with the effort of remaining cognizant as his body hit the ground again. In the next second, he felt his right arm break from another spell the Professor, and his wand left his grip. There was no hatred in Snape's eyes when Harry met his gaze, only cold calculation, which was much worse.

"Again - what you have done with Harry Potter?" Snape asked.

"I _am_ Harry Potter!" Harry protested, yelling in pain when a spell hit his ribs, making him cough blood.

"Lies!" Snape bellowed, casting another spell, forcing Harry to spin, gasping in pain when his battered torso touched the ground. Still, he managed to grab his wand. "WHO ARE YOU?"

" _Flagello Cultello!"_ He hissed, only to be disheartened when Snape cast a _Diffindo_ to cut down the whip before it reached him. The Professor's disposition had darkened significantly after Harry had cast the curse, and he noticed a second too late, as he frantically dodged another rapid sequence of spells from the man, that he had hit Malfoy with the same thing. He might as well have had yelled his guilt to the skies.

Harry couldn't keep dodging forever. Snape was far too quick and too powerful to deal with it, and Harry had spent far too much energy during that day. The small gaps of time in which he managed to sneak something were not enough to create a distraction for him to act, and they never hit the Professor. Yet, Harry always missed this or that pivot, and every time he got hit with something it got harder to keep a firm grasp on his wand because of the overwhelming pain.

Snape was toying with him, that much was clear. But while he was being underestimated, the man was still far too strong for Harry to defeat, and he seemed utterly convinced that Harry was an impostor. It was impossible that there weren't other ways to verify Harry's identity, other than beating the shit out of him.

Then again, it was perfectly possible that even if Snape proved to his satisfaction that this Harry Potter was indeed the Harry Potter, he would still not miss the opportunity to get a little revenge for his godson. After all, Harry was certain that Snape could obliviate him of the identity of who had beat him, and everyone would assume it was the same person who had attacked Draco.

Something at the corner of his eyes caught his attention, and Harry decided to risk it. He waved an exaggerated pattern with his wand that Snape did not recognize, so the Professor remained guarded for anything that could happen but the hissing made it impossible to identify the spell. Narrowing his eyes, he had a conjuration ready on his tongue to intercept the spell when his thigh exploded in pain and he almost dropped his wand in surprise.

Snape looked down to see a boomslang injecting venom into his bloodstream. That was not good. He turned the wand towards the snake to kill it, but Harry had already cast _Expelliarmus_ and an _Incarcerous._ Snape could dispel the ropes with his magic wandlessly, but the snake bit another place in his thigh and broke his concentration.

"Good job, Serena," Harry breathed in relief. He drew the Fang from where he kept it at all times and then retrieved a small vial of boomslang antivenom, a precaution he had always maintained ever since Serena became his companion. Consumed by pain and exhaustion, Harry used the desks in his path to make his way next to the bound Professor.

"You have two options, Snape," Harry gritted out through the pain, already retrieving the third relevant item: the notebook he had which connected him to Daphne. He hastily wrote down a note urgently asking her to rush to the room where they were, making sure to bring along the notebook connected to Cygnus's. "This dagger is made from basilisk fang. I can gently prick it on that open wound you have there, and the poison will kill you painfully. Trust me, I remember what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. It is very unpleasant. Or I can give you the antidote after I make you swear an Oath."

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you?" Snape said angrily. "You arrogant little shit, I don't have to do anything."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Harry smacked the desk closest to him in anger and then winced as his broken arm ringed in pain.

"Then, I won't do anything," Snape snarled. "You don't have what it takes to kill someone."

Harry looked at him and then put the Fang away. "True," he nodded. "I don't like the idea of killing you, even though I despise you." Snape began to grin victoriously, but Harry continued. "But I don't need to kill you, I just need to not save you," he shook the antidote in Snape's face. "The decision may haunt me for the rest of my life, but _that_ is something I can do."

Snape taunted back. "And you think you can find a Vow that binds me?" He snarled. "You are nothing but a petulant child playing games you do not understand. Give me the antivenom!"

"Me? Find a good enough Vow?" Harry snorted. "I won't be doing that. That will be the courtesy of Lord Greengrass."

They stood in silent confrontation for several minutes until Daphne entered the room, blanching when she saw how injured Harry was.

"What happened?" She asked, turning to the bound Professor and then back at Harry.

"He attacked me," Harry winced, and Daphne widened her eyes when she saw how damage Snape had made. "He thought I was an impostor."

"What?" Daphne asked confused, taking a step closer to examine his injuries. "Why would he think that?"

Snape, who had been truly surprised when the girl entered the room, had settled on glowering at them venomously in silence.

"Who cares?" Harry wheezed out through his discomfort. "Write to your father. We're going to have him swear the most stringent Oath to leave Britain and not contact anyone unless we invite him back."

Nodding, she opened the notebook to her father and looked at Harry expectantly.

"You know, I will still drag your reputation through the mud," he said calmly, kneeling down to look at the fallen Professor in the eye. "You really fucked up, didn't you? I thought I might be able to bait you into attacking someone a few days from now, but I didn't even have to do anything. You could have checked my identity in so many different ways." Harry took out the Marauder's Map from his robes and waved it mockingly at the Potions Master. "Remember this? Look? It says Harry Potter in it!" Harry said, pointing at the name on the map before getting up and waving the antivenom. "So? What will it be, Snape?" Harry asked firmly, enjoying the look of hateful resignation on the man's face.


End file.
